


Presents

by MissScorp



Category: Batman (Comics), The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Denial of Feelings, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Murder, conspiracy plots, hints of romance, respect, virus outbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-02-20 11:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 68,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13145520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/pseuds/MissScorp
Summary: The corpses some joker decided to hang outside the Sanctuary are not the kind of present anybody wants to receive. Why they killed the sorry sh*ts doesn't matter. How they were connected to Fin, though? Now that interested Negan. Almost as much as she did.





	1. An Unusual Present

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all, and welcome! 
> 
> This piece is part of my larger crossover work between Batman and Walking Dead. For those curious, this piece is set before my current work, Burn. 
> 
> Please, if you like this piece, bookmark/kudo it!

Negan had a peculiar way of  _wrapping_  gifts. The first present he gave her — a heart-shaped watch pendant on a delicate silver chain — he draped around a clay statue of a half-naked female that suspiciously looked like her. Even the smile on her face had been reminiscent of that slightly mischievous one her family always teased her about having.

The meaning behind the statue and the gift had been abundantly clear: he wanted her to name a time when he could see her wearing nothing but a bedsheet, smile, and that necklace. She had swallowed the laugh that gurgled into her throat, not wanting to encourage his advances, but not wanting to dissuade him from his unusual habit, either. His audaciousness amused more than vexed her.

Propriety dictated that she politely thank him for his extremely generous gift, but make it as clear as she absolutely could that he wouldn't be seeing her model said gift while wearing a bedsheet and a smile for him anytime in the foreseeable future.

Not that it stopped Negan from trying to convince her otherwise.

"Trust me, baby doll," he had whispered in her ear as he stroked a hand over her hip. Subtly suggestive and entirely too stimulating for her piece of mind. "I'm the best fucking present you will ever hope to get." His lips curved against her sensitive flesh. "Don't even need batteries to play with me."

She merely rolled her eyes, as she so often did when it came to him, and opted not to answer.

Not that Negan minded.

No, if there was one thing she learned in the year and a half since she met the foul-mouthed despot, it was that he was two things:  _persistent_  and  _consistent_.

When Negan set his mind to something, he went full steam ahead. There was little that could be done to derail him once he decided on something.

What he decided was that he wanted  _her_.

To get her, he went above and beyond his normal method of obtaining a woman. Mostly because he had no other choice but to employ a different manner of wooing her.

She didn't need Negan to provide for her. She did fine for herself.

She was also comfortable with exchanging her skills for what goods and items she couldn't get otherwise. Trading was the way of life in this new world regime.

She also didn't mind working for points. If she didn't want to work, she left. She had other places to go and plenty of things requiring her attention.

Negan had been flustered by her staunch refusal to become one of his wives.

Raya Kean wasn't a one of kind of woman. She was either an only or a not happening.

Not that Negan gave up his pursuit. Persistently consistent, he continued to pursue her. Other presents like bottles of perfume wrapped in silk nightgowns, candles, soaps, and bath oils set around a diorama of a bathtub full of rose petals, and body lotions folded into lingerie followed the necklace.

All items meant to entice and appeal to her feminine side.

She couldn't deny their effectiveness. She just didn't allow the items to cloud her judgement. Giving in wasn't something she would or could do.

Not without Negan making a few concessions, anyway.

Number one being the dissolution of his harem. Every time she told him that was what he needed to do, he refused. So did she.

Such became the basis of their relationship. Negan continued giving her conspicuously wrapped presents, flirted outrageously with her, and she refused his advances with some quick, clever reply.

Then Negan left her his last present. Everything she thought, indeed, that she felt for the wretched man, changed.

The shimmering silk sheath dyed a vibrant shade of green had been draped over the branches of a fig tree. The symbolism of the tree amused, almost as much as the dress, pleased her.  _He will be Adam to my Eve_   _and together we will frolic in the Garden of Eden._

His creative way of getting his thoughts across  _was_  impressive. It showed style and a bit more sophistication than she initially imagined a man like him would have. However, it was the dress itself that knocked her for a loop. The simplicity of the design said he put an inordinate amount of thought into its selection. There were no frills, no fancy adornments, nothing sheer or otherwise inappropriate about it.

It was the sort of gift a man gave to a woman because he wanted her to feel, and know, she was beautiful.

Raya didn't consider herself a vain or frivolous woman. Not by any means. She didn't have any need or desire for pretty trinkets and trappings. Flattery didn't get a man anywhere with her. Her love and affection couldn't be bought with meaningless tokens and empty promises.

However, she couldn't deny the small kick the dress had given to her feminine side.  _It is nice having a man pay such special attention to me_ , she admitted silently as she heard whistling out in the hallway.  _Even if he is a potty-mouthed lech with a penance for violence_.

Many of her female friends and allies kept telling her that there was nothing wrong with her either accepting Negan's flattery or the gifts he bestowed upon her.  _But then_ , she thought as she heard heavy footsteps in the hallway,  _they also routinely lament over the fact that I ignore my so-called womanly needs_.

She typically replied to their concerns by reminding them how her role as leader of their community necessitated her having to set aside her own wants and needs. They, of course, countered that by saying that just because she was the leading member of a community of survivors did not mean she stopped being a flesh-and-blood woman.

" _Gotta let a man rev up your engines sometimes, Doc,_ " Harley said the last time they discussed Negan. " _It's healthy._   _And admit it, you wanna let this Negan rev up your engines_.  _That's why you're so fit to be tied 'bout him. You wanna let him spark your ignition but don't wanna give up your independence._ "

Raya hadn't replied. Truth was, she didn't know what to say to that. It had been years since she let a man  _rev up her engines_. The only one to even come close had been a King's County Sheriff's Deputy she helped.  _Even then, Rick and I never got beyond more than a few flirty comments and one little dance_.

Still, Raya was forced to admit how there was some truth and logic in what Harley said.  _And really_ , she asked herself as the man in question came strolling into his bedroom.  _What is the harm in allowing Negan to spark my engines a little_?

The answer that came back was  _none_.

Just because she didn't intend to become one of his wives was no reason to deny herself the amusement she got from their playful banter. It was harmless fun. Well, for her anyway.

"Well, shit, darlin'," he said soon as he spied her sitting on the couch. "Had I known your cute lil' ass was here waitin' for me..." He walked — prowled was more like it — towards her. "I'd have hurried the fuck home."

"You are the one who sent for me," she pointed out as she set her mug of tea down on the table and shifted to face him. "Didn't you?"

"I sure as shit did." He set his cherished Lucille beside his chair before sending her a long, smoldering look that had her pulse kicking and her mouth feeling as if she swallowed a pound of sand. "Two fucking days ago."

"I'm sorry I didn't come any sooner," she said. "I couldn't."

"Yeah?" He took a seat across from her. "And why the fuck is that?"

"Because I was helping deliver a baby at one of your outposts."

"That so?" One eyebrow lifted. "And?"

Didn't require much thinking to know what he was asking.

"And it is a healthy baby girl."

_A sweet little cherub born in the middle of a nightmare_ , she added silently.  _A precious life we must all safeguard and teach how to face the evils of this world._

"And the mother?"

Tears filled her eyes and she glanced down at her hands, folded in her lap to keep him from seeing them. "We couldn't save her."

He was quiet for a moment.  _Absorbing the information_ , she imagined. However, his next question caught her off guard.

"Who will raise the baby?"

Her head came up at that rather peculiar question.

"I'm sorry?"

"I asked who is going to raise her."

"Well," she said slowly. "I'm assuming her father will."

"Good." He slowly nodded. "That's good."

"Who did you think would raise her?"

Negan ignored her question and nodded towards the bed not ten feet away.

"How 'bout we continue this conversation over there?" He shot her a wink that caused her belly to do flip-flops. "I promise you'll wake up tomorrow with a big smile on those pretty lips."

Raya opted to change the subject before her brain exploded from the sensory overload.

"You, uh, sent for me?"

"I did," he said with a nod. "Wanted your help with a problem."

"Well, I'm here. What is it you need me to do?"

She regretted the question soon as she spoke it.  _Stupid_! she chastised as his lips curved into a smile that stopped her heart for a full thirty seconds.  _How could you be so stupid? You know giving him an opening like that is dangerous_!

"Why don't you come over here and sit in daddy's lap?" he invited in a low, intimate tone. "I'll tell you what you can do."

"I'm fine right here, thank you."

"Party-pooper."

Raya harrumphed.

"You said you wanted help with something?"

"First things first." He nodded towards a box on the table. "Open your present." He leered at her. "We can discuss all the ways you can thank me for it after."

She turned her attention to the gift she hadn't noticed while waiting for him to return from wherever it was he had been. Whatever the gift was, it was set beneath the covers of a miniature bed fashioned much like the one Negan slept in.

The construction of the bedposts and deep oak frame showed an immense amount of time put into the work. Even the bedding had been stitched with careful consideration and a certain amount of precision even a novice like her could appreciate.

It was the type of work only a master craftsman would possess.  _Who of his people has this level of skill_? She wondered as she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward.  _I want to know because I can use people like that_.

In this new world they lived, skills, after all, were the new money.

"For me?" She queried as she traced her fingers over the black silk coverlet. "A book?" Her lips curved upwards. "You're appealing to my intellect and not my feminine vanity this time?"

"Who says I'm not appealing to both, hm?"

One eyebrow arched at that.

"Are you saying you have found a gift that appeals to both?"

"Pull back the covers on the bed, honey pie." The gleam in his eyes had silver bells ringing in her head. "You'll wanna meet Santa's little helper after you see what he's brought you." His lips stretched into a miles-wide smile that brought out the dimples in his cheeks. Raya felt a flash of an almost forgotten heat pool in her belly. Curls of keen-edged longing raced through her system, making her feel hot in places she didn't want, and cold in places she didn't need. "Well, he's not so little, if you know what I mean..."

There was little doubt in her mind about what  _little_   _helper_  he wanted to introduce her too. Same as she suspected that the book he had gotten her was not one she would choose for herself.

"Am I going to find the  _Kama Sutra for Beginners_ beneath the sheet?"

"Shit, darlin', I can teach you everythin' you need to know about the pleasures of the flesh."

Raya tried to form some rational sort of reply but found her brain and mouth refused to comply. Disconcerted by her response, she turned her attention to her gift. Despite her misgivings, she was curious to see what he was giving her this time.

The book - at least she  _assumed_  it was a book - was tucked into the bed.  _Subtle_ , she thought as she slowly lifted the piece of silk off.  _And consistent_. She drew a breath to settle her unsteady nerves before glancing at what was beneath the coverlet.

It  _was_  a book, she saw with some surprise, but not any of the ones she expected.

**"** _Washington's Spies: The Story of America's First Spy Ring,"_ she read as she slowly lifted the paperback from its pillowy nook. "How did you know that I am interested in this particular part of American history?"

"I saw your cute lil' ass reading  _George Washington's Secret Six."_ He pointed to the one she held. "That one is a lot fucking better than that piece of shit was. There's more historical accuracy in  _Washington's Spies_  than  _Secret Six_. And Rose looks more closely at how them British fucks lost the war and the Colonies through their own stupidity."

"You've read both?"

Why had she never suspected him to have any interest in history? Hadn't he already stunned her when he revealed he was well-versed in works by Aristotle, Freud, and Nietzsche?

"I have," he admitted without shame or regret. "Why is that such a shock?"

"It's not really." She heard his snort and harrumphed. "Okay, it is a bit of a shock to hear that you are as knowledgeable about history as you are in psychology and philosophy. I can't help but be a bit surprised since I always imagined your interests falling more towards sports related things. Especially since you told me that you were a high school gym coach before all this happened."

"Yeah." He gave a slight nod. "I was. Billiards and ping-pong mostly. Sometimes girls' softball or volleyball if they needed someone to pitch in because people were out sick and shit."

"I always preferred archery, horseback riding, and gymnastics myself."

She didn't add,  _and martial arts, swordplay, knife throwing, javelin, wrestling_... That was all need to know information that Negan did  _not_  need to know.

"There's a goddamn shock," he drawled as he slowly got to his feet. "Could shoot a tick off a dog's dick from ten feet away."

She rolled her eyes at his exaggeration of her skills.

"I wouldn't put it quite like that..."

"Fucking truth."

"And you're nothing if not honest."

_Bluntly so_ , she mentally added as she flipped the book open and read the inscription he scrawled on the inside of the front cover.  **Dear Wife** had been written in extra big lettering. She sniffed delicately.  _Also, nothing if not persistently consistent_...

"Keep reading," he told her as he walked over to perch on the arm of the couch. "I wrote something extra-fucking-special for you."

Pinpricks of alarm about what he might have put shivered along her spine. And melted what little of her brain hadn't already been fried.

"I've got something special waiting for you under the mistletoe." She lifted her eyes to his twinkling ones. "First off, you don't have any mistletoe."

"Ahem." He held up a piece of paper for her to inspect. It was a page from some book, she could see that. A page that contained a picture of mistletoe.  _Of course_.

"You were sayin' baby doll?"

"And second," she said, breathless now. "We've been over me becoming one of your wives dozens of times now. How many times do I have to say I won't become one of your mattress playmates?"

"You're the only one who sees my offer that way, darlin'." His fingers slid through the curls at her nape to rub the back of her neck in slow, soothing circles. "Me? I see it as us forming an alliance that gives us both what we want and need."

"I want and need to be more than a man's trophy," she murmured as the knots and pressure accumulated over these many months slowly started to unravel at his gentle massage. "Or a toy he can cast aside when he's done playing with me."

_I won't let myself become my mother. I won't let my heart cause me or my children that much pain and misery._

"Goddamn it, Fin," he grumbled. "You fucking know you're not some toy."

"Prove it then, Negan," she challenged in a moment of recklessness. "Prove I'm worth more than a notch on your bedpost. Prove that you want me and only me. Prove you won't tire of me and toss me away when you're done with me. Do all that and I'll gladly stay as your wife."

Whatever he was about to say got cut short when there was a sharp rap at his bedroom door.

"What the fuck is it?" He barked. "I told you sorry shits I didn't want to be disturbed!"

"Sorry, Boss," came Fat Joey's gravelly voice through a small crack in the door. "Simon said I was to come and get you."

"What the fuck for?"

There was a momentary pause. Then he mumbled the last thing either she or Negan wanted to hear.

"We got us another body."

Negan let loose a long litany of curse words that would have made even the saltiest of sailor's blush. Raya coughed and set her book back inside the box he wrapped it in.

"Just not Christmas for me," she said as she got to her feet, "without a little murder and mayhem to kick off the festivities."

"You want to jingle my balls?" He tossed the picture of the mistletoe on the table before stalking over to retrieve Lucille. "Catch the muther fucking fuck doing this shit." He swung the bat in a sweeping arc. "I've got something we can ring his silver bells with."

He turned then to stalk from the room. Raya made to follow him but paused when she spied the picture of the mistletoe laying on the book he gave her. The book, as well as the picture, had been a lovely gesture. He could have demanded a kiss in return for his gift.

Instead, he tried to cajole one out of her by appealing to her romantic side.  _Sweet of him_ , she thought as she took the picture, folded it, and slid it between the pages of the book.

There had been many times these last few months where he showed he could be more than a barbaric despot.

"Are you fucking coming or what?"

And then there were those times when he was a royal pain in the ass...

"Yes, I'm coming," she grumbled as she made her way from the bedroom. "You, jackass."


	2. Unexpected Surprises

"Well, Miss Detective?" Negan asked once his handful of baboons and workers — which included that douchebag, Simon — had gathered in the yard. "What the fuck do you make of this shit?"

Raya noted it took the group a full twenty minutes from the time that Fat Joey brought word of another body being found for them to all gather outside. Something she found unacceptable but didn't mention to Negan.

Not right then, anyway.

She shifted her attention to him and to the question he posed to her. That he was specifically calling upon her skills as a detective pleased her more than his gifts. It showed he not only valued her opinions and her knowledge, but trusted her to figure out what was happening.

"This is the second body your men have found?"

"It sure as shit is."

"Where was the other body left?"

Negan waved Lucille towards the enclosure he kept a host of undead as an added security measure in.

"Hanging right where the sorry shit was found."

"You didn't remove it?" One brow arched. "Or order them to put the man of his misery?"

Negan looked down at her.

"Now, darlin'," he rumbled in that voice he used whenever he thought her being adorable. "Why would we do that?"

"Because he's evidence, Negan." She made to step closer to the fence, but his cough detained her. She half-turned towards him. "What?"

"I want you to keep your cute lil' ass away from that fence."

She merely rolled her eyes heavenwards and prayed for patience.

"That's going to make investigating this crime a bit difficult, you realize."

"I've spoken, Fin."

In Negan speak – of which she had become quite fluent – it meant he expected her to comply without any lip. His word was law at the Sanctuary. Even she was expected to obey his rules and his commands.

Raya did her best to remember that when she was here that she had to comply with his rules. Lives depended upon her maintaining her cover. So, she gave in, nodded, accepting his authority because it was necessary for her to do so.

For the moment.

"Fine."

He whistled and indicated the body they had been led out here to see. Raya harrumphed but did as he instructed. The incessant groaning of the infected fastened to concrete girders with chains and impaled upon spikes cemented to the ground grated on her already stretched taut nerves, but Raya exerted her will and drowned them out.

She focused on the body that had been artfully displayed on the chain-link fence. The task was made almost impossible because of the coppery scent of blood mixing with rotting flesh, pus, and other bodily fluids she didn't dare name, rising from the quad. It permeated the air, crawled its way down her nasal passages, and curdled the tea and handful of crackers in her belly.

The cloying scent of death shook loose a memory she couldn't make herself forget no matter how much she tried. It superseded itself over everything else on her mind.

A vase of roses tumbled end over end across her visual field. There was a crack of gunfire above the sound of porcelain shattering on a ground that had become white marble streaked with onyx and gold.

The acrid stench of burnt gunpowder mixed with scorched flesh and fresh blood.

Raya ruthlessly rejected the memory as she inched over to Negan's side in order to get a better look at the figure left for their inspection. She didn't have time for indulging in her private drama. Not when there was a body needing her attention and a potential crime waiting for her to solve.

"Well?" Negan placed a familiar hand on her lower back and nudged her closer to his side. A sign of possessiveness, she knew. She allowed it for the moment. When they were alone was time enough to remind him about her not belonging to him. "What do you make of this shit?"

"He's only been dead for a few hours... if that. Hasn't turned, yet. Not," she said as she swept her gaze over the brutalized body, looking for obvious signs of trauma. "That that means anything. Reanimation, as you already know, can take anywhere from a few minutes to hours after death has occurred."

"Who is he?"

The question was posed more to the man standing to the left of Negan than it was to her.

"I don't have a fucking clue." Simon shifted to get a better look at the body. "Ain't seen the little shit around here before."

 _There's a shock_ , Raya thought, sniffing delicately. She immediately regretted her impulsive action.  _Would love some of that_ _mentholated_ _salve Bruce uses right about now_ , she thought as nausea rolled greasily through her belly. She bore down, swallowed the bile back and glanced up at Negan.

"His name's Dewey Crowder."

His eyes shifted, pinned her.

"And your cute lil' ass knows this, how?"

His dark rasp warned her of the rise of a reckless and dangerous mood. If she didn't appease him by giving him the answer he wanted, someone would pay.

She harrumphed.

"Because he worked at your satellite depot to the north," she informed him primly. "You can ask Morales if you don't believe me."

 _You horse's ass_ , she added silently. Negan hoisted Lucille over his shoulder as he moved a step closer.

"And?"

"And I met him when I was there to help deliver the baby."

Negan made a faint sound deep in his throat.

"That was two days ago."

"Yes." She nodded. "However, Dewey didn't show up for his turn at guard duty last night." She indicated where he was fastened to the fence by strips of colorful garland. "Now we know why."

"What I want to know," Negan began after a few seconds of quiet deliberation, "is why I am only hearing about this shit now."

Raya shrugged and told him honestly, "I assumed he chose to leave your service."

His face became as hard and cold as the concrete on which they stood.

"Dereliction of duty is to be reported to me immediately," he informed her brusquely. "Rules are..."

"—rules for a reason," she finished for him. "Yes, I know they are. We have had this discussion plenty of times over the last few months."

"Then make sure that you tell me when one of my men doesn't show up for his patrol shifts."

"Wie du befiehlst, Mein Anführer."

The look he sent her told her that there was gonna be hell to pay later for that little bit of cheek. Not that Raya cared. She allowed his dominion and gave him his due as leader of his community because it behooved her to do so.

However, much like the lioness, she was only submissive for as long as it suited her. He did not own her. He was not her lord and master.  _And it is_ _high time_ _he learns that_ , she decided as she resumed studying Dewey's decaying body.

Cause of death was difficult for her to ascertain at that moment. She would need to get his body down to the doctor's office, so she could examine it more closely. Her quick, cursory inspection told her Dewey's ordeal had been a long and violent one. Death would likely be a combination of blood loss and blunt force trauma.

Blood and bruises had turned Dewey's once youthful face into a gruesome caricature of itself. Sanguine droplets stained the ground beneath his boots. Defensive wounds to his hands said he fought hard.  _He did not go into that long goodnight willingly or easily_.

Whoever had attacked him had been stronger, smarter, and far more skilled than a boy of sixteen. However, what disturbed her the most was the extreme pallor of his skin, the hint of green to his gore coated hair, and the unnatural grin that stretched across his face.

It was almost as if Dewey Crowder had been dumped in the same bubbling ooze as that which gave the Joker his infamous appearance. The chemicals in that toxic soup were the only ones known to cause this form of extreme depigmentation. Only a handful of people were alive that knew that, though.

And the only man who would go to such lengths just for the sheer shits and giggles of it was dead.

 _There's no way this could be his work_ , she thought as dismay replaced the nausea that had been doing jumping jacks in her belly just a few moments before.  _The_   _Joker is dead. Bruce told me so himself_.

Raya couldn't deny the small kernel of doubt creeping through her. How many other times had they suspected the Clown Prince was dead only for him to return in his usual grand fashion?

She made a mental note to speak with Harley about her concerns. For now, she would keep her suspicions and her fears to herself.

"Hey, looks like something had been written on his chest," Fat Joey mumbled as a breeze stirred what little remained of Dewey's once gray work shirt. "You want me to see what it says, Boss?"

"No, I want you to stand there and ask me dumb fucking questions."

Raya took a step forward, intending to see what the message said, but Negan curled an arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. She angled her head back, intending to blister him for his high-handedness, but he cut her off before she could get the first word out.

"You just keep your cute lil' ass put."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to see that pretty neck nibbled on by anybody but me."

She rolled her eyes.  _Nothing if not consistent_. She complied with his request since she didn't have any other choice. Negan waved a hand at Fat Joey.

"Go see what the mutha fucking fuck's message is, you rotund, piece of shit."

Fat Joey nodded and stepped forward to carefully peel back Dewey's shirt. Gasps of horror, gagging, and other murmurs echoed all around as the disjointed letters carved into Dewey's mottled flesh became visible. Raya read the words as an all too familiar cackle sounded in the back of her mind.

_Twinkle, twinkle, my little brat_

_Oh, how I've wondered where you were at!_

_Finding you has surely been my greatest wish_

_For you are the birdie I did so miss!_

_See, I told you killing you is something I would do_

_And long have I imagined running you through!_

_Flutter along now my lovely little dove_

_And_ _notify_ _the Big Guy we both so love!_

The blood drained from her face as those words sunk through the shock and panic.  _No_ , she thought with rising dread.  _No, it can't be. It's not him. He's dead. Bruce told me he was dead._ Another low cackle had a chill crawling along her spine, wrap itself around her throat and cinch tight.

Her heart pounded; her blood pumped.

She glanced around the yard, her breath short and shallow. Any minute she expected to catch a glimpse of that pasty-white face, those green eyes shining with maniacal glee, and those mangled lips twisted into that crimson grin.

Raya forced herself to calm down. Losing her cool would only alert Negan to the fact that she knew who the message was intended for. He would ask questions she couldn't answer, and figure out that she wasn't everything she claimed.

Keeping it together, that was essential. Offer nothing that would give her identity away. Maintain her composure at all costs. Even as she ordered herself to breathe, slow and steady, the air wheezed in her lungs, clogged there until she was almost gulping for it.

"Fin?"

Raya barely heard Negan through the dull roaring filling her ears but couldn't manage a reply. Sweat ran cold and clammy on her skin, and she smelled her own fear. If it was just her that the Joker would kill would be one thing. However, it wasn't. She knew it wasn't. It was her. It was Rose, Christopher, Damian. It was Harley, Tim, Selina.

It was Negan.

 _He is no match for the Joker_ , she thought even as she heard him barking orders to Simon and the others.  _For all that_ _Negan_ _likes to think he enjoys violence? He has never_ _witnessed_ _the Joker's brand of it_.

He wouldn't stand a chance against a man like the Clown Prince of Crime.

The edges of her vision blurred as another high-pitched laugh echoed through her mind. It took every ounce of willpower to not spew what little contents were in her stomach all over Negan's boots.

"Let me go," she gritted through clenched teeth. " _Please_."

"Fin-"

"Goddamn it, Negan, I said let me fucking go."

The minute he did, the nausea hit, a bright bite of pain that caused a whimper to escape before she could stop it. She stumbled away from him, nearly collapsed to her knees twice, but somehow made it inside the Sanctuary and over to a garbage can before she was violently ill.

She heard Negan order them to cut Dewey down and burn his body. She wanted to tell him, no, to let her get some samples and examine the body, but couldn't do anything until her bout of nausea passed. When she finished, she leaned against the wall and waited for the shaking to stop.

"What the fuck was that?" Negan demanded after storming inside. "When the fuck did you start falling to pieces because of shit like that?"

"He's a kid is when I start falling to pieces," she whispered. "This shit shouldn't be happening to kids."

As far as truth went, it was dead-on. She was sick over what had been done to Dewey. Especially if it was done by the man she suspected.  _And he did it_ , she realized with a fresh surge of nausea,  _to let me know it's him_.

"None of this shits fair, baby doll. Hell, you know that."

Raya felt an incredibly unnatural urge to throw herself against him and just cry out her fury and her frustration. She ruthlessly rejected the notion. She didn't have the time to give into tears. Not when there was a very good possibility that the Joker was alive.

 _And here in Virginia_.

"I know." She swallowed around the lump in her throat. "I'm fine now. Thank you."

"You look like shit."

She could well imagine how bad she looked without him telling her. Self-conscious and on edge, she scooped a hand through her hair.

"I'm fine," she repeated. "Just nerves, stress, adrenaline, fear all coming at me at the same time. Just got a little sick because of it. I'm okay now."

"You're going to go and lay the fuck down is what you're going to do."

"No, I'm..."

He overrode her protests by telling her, "Take Lucille."

"I said..."

"Goddamn it, I said take Lucille."

Raya mentally counted to keep from losing what little grip she had over her own volatile temper. Getting angry wouldn't help the situation. The dratted man was too stubborn, and she was simply too exhausted and simply too sick to fight him. She gave in, did as he instructed, grasping hold of the bat by the handle.

"Now, put your arm around my neck."

"No, really…"

Her breath flew out of her when he swept her up into his arms.

As if she weighed little more than a child.

"Why do you gotta be so goddamn stubborn about every damn thing?" He grumbled as he turned to walk up the stairs. "Why can't you admit when you need help?"

"There's the pot calling itself black."

"I don't need any-fucking-thing but for people to obey the rules and do as they are told."

Raya heaved a weary sigh and let her head drop to his shoulder.

"Yeah? Why don't you try telling me that when you're not trying to wheedle kisses beneath a picture of mistletoe?"

It was a dangerous thing to say given how she just tossed her crackers all over the garbage can below. He could easily press his advantage and insist she stay here at the Sanctuary from now on. She knew it, and the man treating her with surprising concern knew it.

"Good tidings aren't the only thing I can give you, darlin'."

Raya chose to ignore that and focused instead on the problem she was now facing. If the Joker was indeed alive then she needed to warn the others about it. The question, though, was how?

 _How do I alert Bruce and Dick and Jason about this without tipping_ _that pasty-faced freak off_? That was what she needed to work out. And she had to figure out how to do it without tipping Negan — who was no slouch in the intelligence department — off to her being the woman he was supposed to deliver to Slade Wilson in exchange for weapons and medical supplies.

 _Why can't my life ever be simple_? she asked as she relaxed in his arms.  _Why is everything complicated_?

If she wasn't Fenix, if she wasn't the leader of the Sirens, if she wasn't charged with a particular set of orders by Batman, she could let Negan pamper and spoil her without the sticky swirl of guilt already shoving at the panic and fear.

 _Why can't I enjoy this?_ She demanded.  _Is having just a_ _little bit_ _of normalcy in my life so wrong? Why does everything have to revolve around my other self and my sworn duties_?

A voice whispered back that it was because heroes were not supposed to have happy ever after's. Hadn't she seen how many of her friends and family never got a chance with their own loves?

 _No_ , she decided as he carried her into his room and laid her down on the bed.  _I don't have to accept that I can't have a life outside of_ _Fenix_. She could still be Fenix and a woman at the same time.  _Harley is right. I do want him to spark my ignition_.  _I want him to do more than just spark my engine._

It was also quite nice, she decided as he took Lucille and laid her on pillows stacked atop the headboard, to have a man not part of her family or close circle of friends to fuss and worry over her for a change.

Even if said man was a sex-crazed wretch with a penance for violence and linguistic skills that would give old ladies heart palpitations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S/N: Wie du befiehlst, Mein Anführer roughly translates to 'As you command, my leader.'


	3. Touching Concern

"You need to eat something."

Food, Raya decided as she reclined back against the pillows, was the absolute last thing she wanted at that moment. Her anxiety attack had completely flattened her. It took several moments of deep meditation and deep breathing before the panic receded back to a more tolerable level. Only the headache and nausea had yet to fully dissipate.

 _This is the worst attack I have had in years_. Indeed, she hadn't had one that severe since the night Bane showed up outside a farmhouse she had taken up residence in with her two children and a man by the name of Rick Grimes. Bane's timely interference bought her and Rick the opportunity to escape a horde of infected as well as men hired by Lex Luthor.

Once they were a safe distance away, she envisioned the possibility of the Joker being next to show up on their doorstep and fell all to pieces.

Same as the last time she suffered an attack, the tremors set in, and with them came the bright note of nausea in her belly, and a blinding pain across the front of her forehead. The bands of panic came next. Around her chest, around her head. Tightening, tightening until she feared she'd pass out from the pressure.

The inability to draw a decent breath had made her head fuzzy, but she bore down, forced herself to breathe in and out slowly, envisioning the panic slowly start to retreat until she could function again. Just because she was back to herself didn't mean she wanted to tempt fate by giving it anything that could come right back up.

The thought of food had her stomach pitching a warning about what would happen if she dared swallow more than a crumb.

"I'm honestly good at not eating anything now," she told him with a slight grimace. "Way more than good with it, actually."

"I want you to try some dry fucking toast or crackers."

"No." She shook her head as her belly cramped. "Not right now."

She tried to offer him a reassuring smile but saw by his scowl that she failed.  _Moody ass._

Soon as she thought it, she sighed. She was being childish, and she knew it. He was concerned about her. Until today, Negan had never seen her as anything other than coolly composed and capable, wading into tricky situations without a backward glance, and processing gruesome scenes without tossing her cookies or going completely to pieces.

Not in front of him, anyway.

He was being surprisingly sweet and attentive.

 _Really_ , she thought as he went to his cabinet to pour himself a drink,  _he's trying to care for me in the only way he knows how_. If Alfred was there he'd sniff and tell her that she could try and be a little more grateful about it. She heaved a tiny sigh and sought to appease him.

"I will try some toast in a little while, okay?"

"Fine," he conceded with as much magnanimity as a man like him could muster. He raised his glass but paused to add, "For now."

"Look, I know you're concerned..." She sniffed at his snort. "But just the thought of food has my stomach gearing up for a protest. Best to just let it settle some more." Then she tried to tease him out of his mood by adding, "Unless you want me decorating your floor in bits of whatever cracker might not have come up earlier."

"I'd prefer my fucking floor to remain puke free."

"So would I."

"You're gonna eat something more than crackers as soon as you feel up to it." He drained the amber liquid in his glass in one swallow before adding, "You eat like a goddamn bird as it is."

She rolled her eyes at that.

"I eat much more than a bird does, I assure you."

"The fuck you do." He poured hot water into a mug that he carried to the bed. "You only eat when I make your ass eat. And even then, it's these little pecks at insubstantial bullshit like crackers or a few carrots when we have them."

"I eat when I need to eat."

"The few fucking crackers and vegetables you eat don't qualify as eating." He offered her a small mug from which steam lazily wafted. "Here," he told her in a voice that said not to argue with him. "Drink this. Carson said this shit will help settle your squeamish stomach."

She accepted the mug and lifted it to take a careful sip of the warm brew. The minty flavor burst in her mouth like a glacier sunburst and spread much-needed comfort and warmth throughout her body.

"Peppermint." Her lips curved on the rim of the cup. "Something you know I prefer when I don't feel well, but that Doctor Carson doesn't."

"Button your face hole and drink it." He sent her a slow, teasing smile that had his dimples winking. "Unless you'd like to occupy that pretty mouth in other, far more pleasurable ways?"

 _Yep_ , she thought as she took another small sip of tea.  _He's nothing if not consistent_.

"You didn't need to go to all this trouble," she said instead. "I've already told you I am fine. But thank you all the same."

"Right." He pointed at the mug. "Drink your tea. And come up with a better explanation for why you've suddenly gone all to pieces over a dead body than that line of horse shit you gave me earlier."

"I keep telling you it was just a mixture of everything coming at me at once."

"Bullshit."

"Negan..."

"Why don't you try and tell me what the fuck really happened out there in the yard?" He stretched out on the bed and laid his head in her lap. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. She frowned down at him, but he merely sent her one of those slow, lazy smiles that set her pulse racing. "Why do you gotta be so fucking stubborn about every little goddamn thing?"

"There's the pot calling the kettle black."

"I'm not stubborn," he told her. "I just know how to say no and not feel guilty about it."

"Right." She snorted a laugh. "Then I'm not stubborn, my way is just the right way."

"You're hard-headed and like shit your way."

"So do you."

"My way is the right way." His grin stretched wider. "C'mon now," he cajoled. "Tell daddy what the problem is so he can fucking solve it."

 _You can't solve this problem_ , she told him silently.  _You have no idea how to fight a man like the Joker_.  _Even Bruce has lost to him_.

"We've talked about you being my daddy."

"Admit it," he rumbled. "You like the thought of me being your daddy. It gets you all tingly and weak in the knees."

"Not in the slightest."

It wasn't a total lie. She didn't get all weak in the knees at the thought of him being her daddy.

That smile combined with that whiskey rough baritone, though?  _That_  was doing things she wouldn't admit to him in a thousand years.

"Fine," he said in one long breath. "Then tell me what's caused this little meltdown of yours."

"It was just a panic attack."

"Helluva fucking panic attack."

"Even I have moments of fear and doubt, Negan." She set her mug on the nightstand. "I'm not inhuman, after all. This world gets to me."

It was the truth. This world did get to her at times. It weighed her down emotionally, broke her confidence, and tore at her resolve quite often. There was only so much bad that one person could take before they became overwhelmed by it.

"That's why you need to keep your cute lil' ass here at the Sanctuary."

 _And he's nothing if not consistent_...

"We've talked about that," she chided gently. "I have explained my reasons for why I won't stay here repeatedly."

"You need someone to take care of you, baby doll."

"As if," she scoffed. "I can quite take care of myself, thank you."

"Sure, you can beat the holy fucking fuck out of some assholes. And you're little Miss Sherlock Holmes. And Sigmund fucking Freud. But." All serious now, Negan leaned up on one elbow and looked her in the eye. "You need someone to watch out for that cute lil' ass. Make sure that you stop to rest occasionally, eat more than a few carrots and celery sticks, actually fucking sleep every once in a goddamn while." He paused, considering. Then the ends of his long lips curved and he all but purred, "Take care of your womanly needs."

Of all those things he listed her needing someone to help her with, it was the last that she knew he wanted most to take care of. Not that she had any intention of allowing him that privilege. No matter how much her traitorous mind and body might want otherwise.

"I take care of myself," she assured him with a small, delicate sniff, "and all of my needs just fine, thank you."

"Well, now, darlin', we gonna have to agree to disagree there."

"And if a roll in the hay was all that I required," she informed him primly, "I'd gladly accept your offer of stud service."

"What is it that you do require?"

The question caught her completely off guard. She had anticipated him issuing some witty reply to her comment about his offering of stud service and readied a suitable rejoinder that would shut the conversation down before it could go any farther.  _What game is he playing now_? She studied Negan's face, trying to get an idea of what angle he was working but saw nothing save for his usual facade.

Hunger — hot, ravenous — a prowling, animalistic urge lurked in the depths of his dark eyes. It caressed her with fingers of heat, its tug more than merely physical. Beyond it, in the deepest, darkest circles, lay...  _restlessness_. A soul-deep weariness and loneliness. Negan was a lost man — one who had everything taken and who was struggling to find some sort of reason for why he was alive.

Raya recognized the source of his restlessness, she understood the weariness and even the loneliness, but she'd never met anything like the hunger that was within him. Alive, a tangible force, it reached out and stroked her suddenly too tight flesh, tempting her, almost begging her to sate it.

A reactive urge to soothe him, to give him comfort, to provide him with a temporary respite from the dark things she saw milling inside him filled her. A frown pulled at her brow as she puzzled over her reaction. It was almost as if she wanted to...

 _Love him_.

And that, she decided even as she set a trembling hand to his cheek and stroked her thumb beneath his eye, could never happen. She wasn't free to love him, he wasn't capable of loving her, and they'd just end up being miserable in the end because neither of them would get what they really wanted.  _Or needed_ , she added as she sighed softly.

"It doesn't matter what I require," she finally told him somberly. "What we want can never be. No matter how much either of us might wish otherwise... it can never be."

"Answer my goddamn question."

"Why? What good will it do?" She shook her head. "No. It's better to leave things unsaid."

"Quit being fucking stubborn."

He leaned up until they were almost nose to nose. Subtly warning, and intimidating. It might have worked had she not been raised by the expert in intimidation. Raya stared him in the eye, letting him know she wasn't impressed.

"Quit it."

She had also learned the art of commanding obedience at Diana Prince's knee. Her simple words held echoes of authority and undertones of command. Negan heard them same as she did. He angled his head, one black brow rising, then the ends of his long lips lifted.

"Tell me what the fuck you require."

It was her turn to listen and hear the warning undercutting that warm, velvety tone. She could either give in and answer his question or else there would be repercussions.

"I require more than you can or are willing to give."

"Such as?"

"A man who loves me and only me. Who wants me and only me. Who treats me as his equal and lets me stand beside him, not above or below him."

"You sure don't require much, do you?" She heard the bitterness in his tone same as he did, but he didn't bother to apologize for it. "You have too many romantic notions in that head of yours, darlin'. This ain't no fairytale we're living in."

"I don't believe in fairytales or such things as happy ever after."

 _Heroes don't get those sorts of things in real life_ , she added silently.  _Look at Barry and Iris, Clark and Lois, Diana and Steve, and Conner and Cassie. They didn't get their happy ever afters_.

Raya felt a twinge of that never-quite-gone grief over the last. Fifteen years had passed since she made the choice that sent Conner Kent to his death.

While the pain had lessened, it, nor the guilt, had ever gone away.

She doubted it ever would.

"That so?" He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "And why's that, baby doll?"

"I have never believed in such nonsense."

That much was the truth. She had never believed in things like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny or unicorns. Her Knight in Shining Armor didn't ride an ivory steed or carry a sword and shield.  _He tends to drive a big black automobile and wear a cape and cowl_. She didn't tell Negan that, though.

Batman and her life as one of Gotham's many silent protectors belonged in that 'need to know' category. It was the largest reason why she could never allow herself to fall in love with him. Her role as Fenix was not something she could share with Negan.

He refused to completely abide by her no-killing the living rule. Rules were rules for a reason to him.  _Especially when they're his rules and he can enforce them_.

"Never?" One brow tilted. "You've never believed in fairies? Unicorns? Any of that bullshit?"

"I prefer facts to myths."

"Really?" He reached under her pillow. "Then why the fuck do you read Lewis Carroll?"

Raya stared at the copy of  _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ he held and wavered between wanting to snatch the book from him or shrugging it off as nothing significant. She couldn't do it. She just couldn't bring herself to lie. Not about this.

"Read the inscription on the inside cover," she told him quietly. "You'll understand why that book is important once you see who it is from."

He did as she instructed after casting a dubious look at first the book and then her.

"Bruce?" He lifted dark eyes to hers. "Who the fuck is this asshole?"

She expected him to have questions after reading what Bruce had written. She anticipated there would be some level of curiosity about his chosen words, and his pet name even.

What she hadn't counted on was the dark scowl that twisted his features or the irritation coating his voice.  _Is he jealous of Bruce_? It certainly appeared that way.  _How absurdly hilarious_ , she thought as a gurgle of amusement worked its way up her throat into her mouth.

"Bruce raised me." She indicated the book with a wave of her hand. "That's the first book he read to me after I went to live with him."

 _You horses ass_ , she added silently.

"Live with him?" His eyes narrowed. "He's not your father?"

"Not biologically, no." She smiled. "And before you ask, no, he never legally adopted me." She took the book from him and slid it back beneath the pillow. "I adopted him, actually."

"You adopted this shithead?"

The vague note of surprise that tinged his voice, flickered in his eyes amused her more than his jealousy did.

"Yes, I did." She sent him a warning look then. "And stop calling him names. He is my father."

He ignored her. Just as he always did.

"Why the fuck would you adopt a grown ass man?"

"Because I wanted to honor the man —  _men_ ," she corrected, "who chose to fill the role the man biologically connected to me refused too."

 _They deserved having that acknowledgment even if neither of them felt they needed it_.

"You were raised by two men?"

"Yes, I was."

"Were they...?"

"No," she said with a soft chuckle. "My uncle was married to my maternal aunt, and Bruce has had multiple relationships over the years with women."

 _Jezebel, Diana, Selina, Vicki Vale_...

Negan chewed on that bit of information quietly for a few minutes. Raya used the silence to finish her now tepid tea. She knew better than anyone how confused most people were about her family. Many found it strange she considered herself the daughter of both Bruce Wayne and James Gordon. And that she thought of Jason Todd and Tim Drake as her brothers but Dick Grayson as her best friend. Even Damian Wayne was less her little brother and more like one of her children.

"Who the fuck are you, Fin?" He finally asked. "Who the fuck are you really?"

"I'm everything I have told you I am."

 _And everything I haven't told you, too_.

A clock on the wall chimed five. Raya stifled a yawn. It was now officially thirty-six hours since she last slept. Exhaustion was creeping over her like fog across a valley. Negan muttered something under his breath that she chose not to interpret.

"Go to fucking sleep," he ordered. "And don't give me any of your lip."

"I'm fine."

She expected an argument out of him. Instead, he surprised her by taking her mouth with his own. Soft. Warm. Deep. His lips didn't brush or nibble but simply absorbed. The intimacy of it jolted through her and was joined by a shimmering wave of heat that started in her toes and rose up to melt her very bones.

A little sound — stunned pleasure — hummed in her throat. Her mouth parted in welcome before she could stop herself. Oh, this! She had almost forgotten what it felt like to have a man kiss her like this. A part of her didn't want it to end. When he finally eased back, her vision was blurred, and her mind a blank.

"Now," his voice dropped an octave and the low, intimate quality skittered along senses already raw. "Go to fucking sleep."

"Uh." She had forgotten how to exactly form words. "Huh?"

"Close your eyes." He gently nudged her down. "Shut your brain off for a few fucking hours."

She gave in without offering another word, laying down and watching as he tucked the blankets around her. Later, when her brain resumed functioning she would figure out whether she complied because she was too tired to argue with him or because he somehow brainwashed her into obeying him.

For now, she closed her eyes and surprised herself by instantly drifting off.


	4. Night Terrors

A storm was brewing. Though the skies outside the Sanctuary remained clear and the air didn't smell of rain or ozone, a storm was still coming. It ripped into Raya's mind and tossed her head first into the world of dreams.

...

Forged over a century and a half ago from brick and mortar, the Berkeley Estate shared the same Gothic architectural style as most of the other homes and buildings in Gotham. This house, however, lacked the tiny details that made even an imposing place like Wayne Manor feel like home.

A thick wrought-iron fence topped with the blivet the devil wielded surrounded the property. It was an appropriate symbol for the man who inhabited this residence until a brief time ago. A blanket of snow covered the miles of manicured lawn, as well as the limbs of the old oak trees circling the drive, bowed beneath its weight.

Yet, for all its glacier beauty, the Estate represented nothing more than a dark stain upon her memory. Anger throbbed and hate pulsed as she faced the structure that had been witness to the loss of her innocence. This had not been a happy place. No, the Estate was a cold, cold house. Full of secrets and lies and anger and hate.

_And death._

Oh, yes, death, in all its cruelty, held this house in its dark, sinewy web. Its shadow ran deep. Cloaked by it, whispers stirred the leaves in the trees or upon the ground, in the tangled trap of the vines that fastened themselves to the bark of those old oaks, around the stately columns perched like sentinels at the front walk. Its breath was thick and fetid, and its eyes gleamed a feral shade in the dark.

Inside the house, the edges were sharp, the surfaces hard. The colors were pale - ivory and dove-gray. Save for the roses, always roses, that were the color of fresh blood. The house appeared vacant, but she knew that was a lie.

The house wasn't empty.

There were dozens of unknown souls trapped inside the walls of the Estate. People who lost their lives to the monster who once dwelled here.

The house beckoned her, begged her to step inside and traverse its hallowed hallways once more.

In sleep, Raya turned her head away, resisted the house's pull. She didn't want to go inside. Not again. Not ever. However, the front doors opened, the tall gray doors that opened into the long, wide foyer. Invisible hands led her up the front steps.

Polished black-and-white marble streaked with gold threads, gleaming wood, and the cold, cold sparkle of crystal and chrome greeted her as she stepped inside. The acrid stench of burnt gunpowder mixed with that of charred flesh and a tangy, coppery aroma to create a smell no amount of time would ever completely erase from her memory.

Only this time, in this dream, it wasn't her mother falling, collapsing upon the antique table in the middle of the foyer, and upsetting the crystal vase full of fresh red roses that she saw _._ No, the figure laying on their back in an ever-growing pool of red was not her fair-skinned, dark-haired, petite mother.

It was Negan.

Raya choked on a scream, stumbled to where he lay. Her breath wheezed as she collapsed to her knees beside his broken, lifeless body. Blood, bone, and bits of brain matter smeared his black leather jacket, the neckline of his snow-white t-shirt, and his slate-colored pants. What little remained of the top of his head still sported swatches of dark, matted hair. A glance to her left revealed the item used to bludgeon him to death...

...  _Lucille_.

Instantly, the bands of panic and fear and guilt formed. Around her chest, around her head, around her throat. Tightening, tightening until she could hardly breathe, much less think, rationally. She fought the nausea that threatened to burst from her mouth at any moment. Tears slid down her cheeks as she stretched out a hand that shook towards him.

Her fault. This was her fault. It was the price for allowing herself to get involved, of letting him close. Hadn't she learned about consequences the last time she was in this house? How many times did she need to have the rules explained to her before she would get them?

There were no happily-ever-afters for a filthy little mongrel like her. Wasn't that what her daddy told her? That an abomination like her deserved pain and misery for all the humiliation she brought him?

A familiar laugh echoed from the top of the stairs. It started as a giggle and eventually grew into a chuckle before it became a shriek that cruised along her already frayed nerves and unraveled them even further. Sweat ran cold and clammy over her feverish skin, and she could smell her own escalating fear.

The edges of her vision blurred, and she shot a wild look at the landing, half-expecting to see  _his_  bone-white face shining like a beacon,  _his_ maniacal eyes gleaming with malice and mirth, and  _his_  garishly painted lips peeled back in that wide, bone-curdling grin. There was no sign of that pasty-faced freak. In fact, there was nothing, but one word painted repeatedly in red over every inch of wall, ceiling, door, and painting:  _HA_...

...

There was a scream ripping through her head when she bolted up in bed. It took her a few seconds to realize her shrieks were not solely inside her mind but reverberating throughout the room.

Negan sprang from a sound sleep, instantly reaching up to where Lucille was laying atop some pillows on the headboard. He then looked around for whatever caused her to set up such a ruckus and frowned when nothing out of the ordinary greeted him.

"What the shit, Fin?" He ran a hand over his face before placing Lucille back. "What the fucking fuck is the matter with you? You trying to wake the entire goddamn Sanctuary?"

Raya tried to push the remnants of her dream from her mind. She did everything she could to still the fear still barreling through her. However, the sight of Lucille brought it all back again.

Him in a pool of blood, his head smashed open like a pumpkin, and the barbs of his beloved Lucille coated with crimson gore. With her breath sobbing, body trembling with terror and cold, teeth chattering wildly with them, Raya scrambled into his lap and burrowed against him.

"What the fuck?" Surprise tinged his voice. "What the fucking fuck is the matter with you?"

He started to put her to the side of him, but she clung to him like moss wrapped around the trunk of a tree.

"Please," she whimpered. "Hold me. Please, please, hold me."

Her neediness horrified her. She shouldn't fall to pieces like this. Not because of a dream. Not because of him. Negan was merely a means to an end. A way to keep an eye on his dealings with Slade Wilson. Being here at the Sanctuary was simply the best way of stopping him from retaliating or attacking whoever fueled his ire.

She wasn't supposed to develop feelings for him.

However, the fear and paranoia had set in. Nothing, nothing she did forced it to release her from its hold. It curled itself around her bones and cinched tight. A tear slithered down her cheek as she lay against him, helpless as a newborn kitten and sickened by it.

The sound of that bone-chilling laugh, the tangier aroma of blood mixed with the sweeter smell of roses drained away everything she was. She felt the woman she had become fading away and leaving behind one she hadn't been since the night she chose to kill Conner.

"Jesus fuck," he rumbled. "You're like a block of goddamn ice." He yanked the blanket she kicked off in her haste to crawl into his lap up, and rubbed her arms and back to try to impart some warmth into her. "What's the matter with you? Is this because of that shit from earlier? What the fuck here, Fin?"

She couldn't tell him about the dream. It was the one thing she knew she could not do. He wouldn't understand. He had no idea about what a monster the Joker was. Even this world paled to compare to the levels of violence the Clown Prince of Crime was capable.  _He murders just for the kicks. To him, death is a joke. He laughs as he inflicts pain. And he does it because he wants too, not because he has too._

Not that Negan was a saint there. He could be just as cruel as the Joker. It was the largest point of contention she had with him. Only, she could stop Negan from using violence. He wasn't a monster. Not like the Joker. Negan could still be saved. He wasn't so far down the rabbit hole that she couldn't lead him out of the darkness. He was a broken man who could be put back together again.

There was nothing that would fix the Joker.

"Fin?" She felt his breath stir the hair at her temple. "I swear if you've gone to sleep without answering me..."

"No, yes, no." She nestled more fully against him. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing. Just a dream. All it was. A stupid dream. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. I'm a fuc..."

"Stop it. Stop that shit, I said!" He took a firm grip on her shoulders. "Fin!"

Her head came up, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. Tremors racked her body and her breath came whistling out from between her teeth.

"Ple-lease," she managed. "I'm so cold."

"Hush now, darlin', hush." His tone and touch gentled while he brushed hair and tears from her face. "Daddy's got you." He wrapped her more fully in the blanket, then pulled her close. "Nothing's gonna fucking hurt you. I sure as shit can guarantee it."

 _Is this the man Negan had been before the world went to hell_? This occasionally sweet, sometimes gentle, and considerately caring one? It was a side of him she was seeing a bit more often when they were alone. She found herself wondering at that as she tucked her head against his shoulder and traced her fingers over the skull and crossbones tattooed on his chest.

Why did he act differently with her? What about her earned her such distinctive favor? It wasn't like he was getting anything out of the deal.  _Well_ , she amended as he ran a hand over the cap of her hair and down her back.  _He's not getting what he most wants out of it, anyway_.

The things — food and medical supplies — she provided were as much for his people as him. Her giving of her time and her experience benefitted everyone. Even stopping the serial rapist preying upon those he took as wives had been more for the benefit of the women being targeted than it had been for him.

Granted, she often did bring books, movies or other things she knew he would enjoy or find amusing, but none of it was what she would consider as special enough to call for the level of personal attention she received. Her brow puckered as she tried to puzzle out just why it was that he allowed her liberties that he did not allow his wives.

Like sleeping in his bed.

_With him._

The realization that he had been asleep beside her when she woke from her nightmare cleared away some of the panic and fear. She should scold him for his audaciousness but found she didn't have the energy or the wherewithal for such a fight. It wasn't like he had taken advantage of her. He hadn't made it any secret that he wanted her as a bedmate.

However, it was clear from almost the time she met him that he might bring his wives here to play with, but he preferred sleeping alone. She had suspected the reason for that was because he had a fear of emotional intimacy. Sleeping beside someone left one vulnerable to attack. And yet...

"Wanna tell me about this dream?"

No, that was the last thing she wanted to tell him about. Especially since her emotions were all over the place at that moment.

"It was just a silly dream."

"Bullshit."

Short and to the point. She appreciated when he could say what needed without waxing on endlessly about it.

"Really, it isn't worth talking about."

"Tell me it anyway, baby doll."

 _Persistent_. That was the other thing he could be. He was like a dog with a new bone to gnaw upon. He wouldn't be satisfied until he snapped the bone open and sucked out the marrow. His stubborn refusal to let the situation go reminded her so much of Bruce at that moment that it caused her heart to twist inside her chest.

Bruce didn't tend to let things go, either. Not until he received a satisfactory explanation.  _Even then_ , she mused,  _he will fixate upon the answer, trying to tear it apart and test whether it was the most logical response to whatever the question or situation was._  That keen intellect and indomitable will were the two greatest weapons in Batman's arsenal.

Where members of the Justice League possessed things like super speed, superhuman strength or special rings, Bruce Wayne was nothing more than a mortal man who relied upon his own intellect and know-how to take down his enemies. Negan was proving more and more how much like Bruce he was underneath it all.

A new, and disturbing thought occurred to her as he settled his hands upon her lower back.  _I go to him when I'm feeling unsettled or unsure. I ask him for his advice and rely on his judgment._

She was clinging to him as she once did her husband, Ethan.

"Answer me, Fin."

Bruce just wasn't as pushy about getting her to open up about things as Negan. She harrumphed softly.

"I dreamed of someone." There, that was safe enough to tell him. "Someone I lost."

"Yeah?" There was a veiled note of suspicion darkening his tone. "And who the fuck is this someone?"

"It's not important."

"If it's not important than tell me who the fuck it is."

She wanted to tell him it was him that he was being such a jealous ass over. She couldn't, however. Admitting she was dreaming about him in any capacity was dangerous. Telling him how she dreamed about a psychopath in white face paint taking him out with his own baseball bat?

Nah uh. That gave him more cause to keep her at the Sanctuary.

Having to also explain that why she fell to pieces was because the last time she dreamed of someone she cared for dying it came true? That gave him power over her. And she couldn't allow that. She could never let him know he held her in the palm of his hands.  _He can crush me with ease when he decides he is done with me_.

"It's nobody," she told him. "Just a friend."

"Sounds like more than just a friend."

"You're right," she admitted. "They're more than a friend."

"Yeah?" His arms tightened around her. "Then who the fuck were they?"

"Someone murdered by an evil man and left for me to find in a place that holds nothing but bad memories for me."

Negan was silent for a few moments. Raya started to suspect he had drifted back to sleep when he made a faint sound, like a  _hmm_ , deep in his throat.

"I lost someone close to me before this shit happened." His fingers flexed, curled into the hem of the t-shirt she had worn to bed. "One day they were there and the next..." His sigh cruised over her tingling flesh. "The next they were gone. And it broke me."

She suspected he spoke of his wife. They hadn't ever discussed his past in any specific detail. Whenever she pushed him too hard for information, he got belligerent, and shutdown. As such, she knew he had been a teacher, lived in a suburb not too far away from the Sanctuary, been married but didn't have any kids. He had never told her his wife's name.

She made the connection when he told her he called his bat, Lucille. She suspected he didn't mention her by name because he hadn't yet really grieved for her. Raya understood that. There had been a time when just saying her husband's name caused her to ache anew. However, until he allowed himself to properly grieve for her, he would never overcome her loss.  _Much like I didn't fully overcome Ethan's death until after I met Rick_.

"You're not broken," she told him gently. "Just bent."

 _You can learn to love again_ , she added silently.  _You're not dead. You do still feel. You just are afraid too._ She didn't say any of that to him, though. It would just lead to another heated argument between them.  _And I'm just not emotionally up for a fight,_ she thought, stifling a yawn _._

"Go back to sleep."

"No." She curled her fingers on his chest to keep them from trembling. "I don't want to sleep. I'm alone when I…"

"Hush. You're not fucking alone. I'm right goddamn here." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Now shut your face hole and close them pretty lil' eyes of yours."

"Negan-"

"I said to close them pretty lil' eyes," he repeated in a mildly exasperated voice, "and get some fucking sleep."

"But I'm on top of you..."

"Shit, darlin', I've been trying to get you to fall asleep on top of me for months." His lips curved against her skin, as warm as the hand caressing her hair and back. "I just was hoping it would be after you rode us both to exhaustion. Now," he ordered. "Go to sleep."

And continuing to stroke her hair and back, he lulled her into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	5. King to Queen

Raya awoke, disoriented, and not entirely sure she was awake. An extremely abnormal amount of calm filled her, and a comforting warmth surrounded her. She didn't want to move, to do anything that might disturb the spell or cause her to lose this peaceful state she was in. It had been so long since she had felt this completely at ease. It was almost as if the world outside had completely faded away.

There were no hordes of undead lurking right outside the front doors, no renegade bands trying to kill each other for stuff and things, and no monsters like the Joker were playing hide and seek in the shadows. For a few moments, she could just  _be_ without fearing the world would come crashing down around her.

Then a foreboding sense of impending doom poked at her, dispelling her euphoric feeling and forced her to reluctantly open her eyes. The room was filled with twilight. It meant the hour was somewhere between that time where deepest night had ended, but sunrise had not yet managed to turn the sky crimson and gold.

Blinking rapidly cleared away the lingering fog hanging over her, reminding her about where she was, and where she had slept every night for the last four days.

In Negan's bed.

 _With him_.

The warmth enveloping her was  _him_.

The fact she could so clearly see told her morning was not far away. Jesus would soon be leaving Hilltop to head to their assigned meeting place at the old church. She had to get up and make her way from the Sanctuary before Negan awoke. Gathering her wits around her, Raya drew a shallow breath — all she could manage with his arm tossed across her back and his hand resting on her derrière — and started the slow process of carefully untangling her limbs from his.

This marked the third morning she had to ease from the bed without waking him, and the task was not getting any easier with continued practice.

Eventually, she managed to slip from the bed without more than a sleepy murmur from the man still asleep in it. A small smile curved her lips as she turned and looked down at Negan. He slept on his back, one arm tossed across his eyes while the other was still flopped over like it had been when it rest on her back.  _With his hand on my ass_ , she thought with a modicum of amusement as she tugged the covers up over him.

Even in sleep, the man was consistent. However, she didn't feel as unsettled about that as she thought she should.  _I shouldn't be getting so comfortable sleeping in the same bed as him_ , she thought as she smoothed the covers with her hand.  _One night is acceptable. I needed that security and comfort he gave me to rebuild the walls and make them stronger_.  _Two nights? Three? That's walking a very fine line_.

A fine line, she acknowledged now as giving Negan far more power and control over her than was safe or sane. Before she headed for the bathroom and a shower, Raya took a moment to study his face, what she could see of it from beneath the arm covering it.

The harsh planes had softened with slumber, but there was still that hardness, that promise of strength, that rigid inflexibility she found equally appealing and exasperating. His lips held a hint of that smile she had come to love.  _Probably thinking about all the things he will try to get me to do after he wakes up_.

He was nothing if not consistent, after all.

That's why she had to leave him.

The past four days had shown her a side of Negan she had not expected, and which she found herself more than a little drawn too. He had been very sweet, extremely gentle, and given her exactly what she needed following her minor meltdown every time the dream plagued her. She had been like a hysterical child running to her parent to get away from the monster under her bed. Shaky, needy, desperate.

She hadn't been able to handle it, and needed someone — needed  _him_  — to settle and soothe her. Raya prided herself on her independence and ability to care for herself, but she hadn't been able to stand up to the monster inside her head. Only, this man, this pasty-faced freak wasn't hiding in the back of her bedroom closet or beneath her bed. He was lurking in the shadows and just waiting for the right moment to strike.

 _And he will go after Negan because he cannot unleash his diabolical plot on a member of my family_.

There was no choice. She had to leave Negan. To save him, she had to go away.  _Just for a little while_ , she promised.  _I will come back once I have uncovered where that damn clown is hiding and returned him where he belongs_.

Drawing in a breath, heart aching, she reached out to brush her hand through his hair but stopped herself. For a moment, her hand hovered an inch from his face, then she sighed and, with a sad grimace, drew it back.

She couldn't risk waking him.

Hugging herself against the morning chill, she took one last, long look at the life, the man, she couldn't ever have.  _God, it just isn't fair_ , she thought, bitter tears stinging her eyes and kicking at the pieces of her heart.

If she had met Negan before all this happened, they might have just been two people trying to find love again in this twisted world.

If only she wasn't Fenix they could have a chance at happiness. At love.

If only she was a less honorable woman she could just accept his conditions.

If only...

There was no pot of gold waiting at the end of the rainbow for her. No Prince Charming galloping up on his white steed and professing she was his one true love. No riding off into the sunset. No living in his magical palace in the clouds. Superheroes didn't get things like happily ever after.

Hadn't she learned that with Ethan?

She showered, dressed, then took a few moments to tame her wildly curling hair into a single braid she left to hang down her back. Before she left the bathroom, she took a long look at herself in the mirror. She was a trifle pale to her way of thinking, but the bluish smudges beneath her eyes had faded almost completely.  _The benefit of getting more than two hours sleep every three days or so,_ she admitted with a faint grimace.

She left the bathroom then, checked to make sure that Negan was still slumbering peacefully before crossing to the bedroom door. She peeked out into the corridor but saw no one, heard nothing, and was grateful. The fewer eyes to see her as she made her exit from the Sanctuary, the better.  _Fewer people for him to vent his displeasure on_   _when he wakes and finds me gone._

"What makes you so special?"

Raya jumped and swallowed the Negan-ism that sprang to mind at being caught exiting Negan's bedroom before dawn.  _My head is so screwed up by this Joker situation that I am making rookie mistakes_ , she thought as she quickly pulled the bedroom door closed.  _I have to get myself together or else everything I am trying to do here will be for naught_.

She schooled her features before slowly turning to face the scowling women standing a few feet to the left of her. A quick study of the two was enough to jog her memory.

 _Frankie_ , she remembered Negan calling the russet-haired woman during her brief introduction following her agreeing to go undercover to find the man raping and murdering his wives. She cut a look at the dark-haired woman beside her.  _Tanya_.

Wives one and two. Neither of his favorites by any stretch of the meaning, but still the highest ranking of the bunch.

All that was missing to complete their little trifecta was the blonde, Amber. Usually, wherever these two women were, the petite girl was not far behind.

Raya considered inquiring about her whereabouts. Of all those Negan considered his wives, Amber was the only one she didn't mind and that she tried to help as often as she could.

She was just a scared girl with a sick mother who was trying to make her way in a world that was cold and cruel in the only way she thought she could. They all were when she got right to the heart of it. She just tended to trust Frankie and Tanya less than she did Amber.

"I'm sorry?" she politely asked as she smoothed the front of her dress. "What was it that you asked me?"

"She asked you what makes you so special."

Raya let her eyes meet Tanya's cool ones. Of the two women, it was Tanya she considered the most dangerous. Nothing was known about the woman's life before the apocalypse.

For all that Raya knew, the woman could be a former spy or assassin for any number of agencies or groups.  _There is something in her eyes that I don't trust. Something that tells me she isn't all that she seems._

"What makes you think I am special?"

Tanya merely frowned. "Because you are."

"Enlighten me about how."

"He showers you in gifts, lavishes you with his time and personal attention, takes care of you when you get sick, cooks for you, and now has taken to having you sleep in his bed." Frankie ticked the items off one by one in a voice like tempered steel. Raya listened, partially surprised at the vehemence in her voice, but not about why. She had known her relationship with Negan was likely to ruffle some feathers. She was a usurper, an interloper. Their existence depended upon how happy they kept their  _husband_. His being distracted by her prevented them from doing that. However, the woman's next words took her theory of this being a matter of jealousy and spun it on its ear. "And you don't have to have sex with him for any of the privileges that you enjoy."

"Not like we do."

Tanya's bitterness stung the air. Raya heard it, she understood it, she even accepted it as par for the course. They had cause for their acrimonious feelings. Negan did treat her differently than he did them. He held her to a separate set of standards. Had a higher set of expectations.

Negan made it clear to all and sundry that he wanted her as a wife.

However, it wasn't offered to her with the same conditions as theirs.  _And that's what is driving their envy_ , she realized. It wasn't that she was taking Negan away from them, oh no. It was that he didn't require the same payment from her that he did from them.  _Well, that's not my fault._

"You're right," she informed them coolly. "I do not have to trade my body for his protection, my privileges or for the things that I want or need. I trade my time, my brains, and my skill, instead."

"And that keeps you from being forced into becoming one of his wives?"

"I do not let him coerce me into doing anything that I do not want to do." She stepped away from the door. "When I tell him, no, I mean no. And he respects that."

"You also don't have anyone that he can use to force you to accept his proposal."

"It wouldn't matter if I did."

"You'd let him kill your husband or your boyfriend?"

"No." She shook her head. "I wouldn't. I would find something else to trade that would appease him."

"Sex and violence are the only things that satisfy him."

"Those are merely his chosen coping mechanisms," Raya pointed out with a tiny sniff. "They are not, however, the only things that placate or satisfy him."

Something they'd know if they had ever taken the time to get to know the man they got into bed with whenever he snapped his fingers. She kept that thought to herself. It wouldn't help diffuse the situation.

"Really?" Tanya's lips twisted into a sneer. "Then tell us what else does."

"Because we clearly," Frankie added with a bite to her tone, "have no clue."

She really didn't have the time to stand here and explain Negan to them. She needed to get away before he could stop her.  _Jesus is likely already stressing over my tardiness as it is_.

That the love child of Obi-Wan Kenobi was an angsty little Jedi when provoked was typically a source of amusement for her. Today, however, wasn't one of those times where she felt like teasing him about his Sith-side.

She didn't have the energy to deal with his concerns or increasing worry that her role had become compromised because of her softening feelings towards Negan. She could admit, now anyway, that she was balancing upon a very slippery slope. One small push in either direction could completely blow their operation. It didn't mean she couldn't continue in her role as Fin. She would just need to exercise more caution and control.  _First, I must deal with these two_...

Raya heaved a disgruntled sigh and folded her arms across her chest.

"Seeing people obey the rules, do their jobs, not do something that gets others killed, providing, those are all things that he wants," Raya explained with as much patience as she could muster. "Even more than he wants his sexual appetites fed or to beat someone's brains in with Lucille."

"And what is it that you do, exactly?"

"I help Carson tend to the sick at the other outposts that are under Negan's control. I offer therapy to those who need someone to talk to and help with caring for those who have disorders that make it hard for them to take care of themselves. I give what goods I find when I am wandering or offer fresh meat, vegetables or fruits from my own stores. I share where the undead hordes are, what the Whisperers are up to, and help with solving the more difficult crimes that have occurred here at the Sanctuary. In short," she said. "I make myself indispensable to him by being everything needed and which he otherwise doesn't have at his disposal."

 _And I am a whole lotta other things that he doesn't even realize I am_ , she added silently. Frankie and Tanya didn't need to know that, though. No more than Negan needed to know.

"And you think that earns you a right to the easy life?"

"I think it has earned me his trust and his respect."

"He's made it clear he wants you to become one of us." Frankie's eyes narrowed. "And we've seen how he is when he wants something."

So had she. She just didn't give in as easily as others did.

"The only way he will ever have me as his wife is by setting all of you free." That, at least, was the complete truth. "And I stand by that."

"So, you will not become his wife until he divorces all of us." Tanya snorted a laugh. "Well, I don't see that happening anytime soon. He doesn't believe in monogamy. Views it as unnecessary."

"Then his wife I will never become," Raya told her as she slowly turned away. "Because I do believe in monogamy. And," she said over her shoulder, "I don't like sharing men."

"Wait," Frankie called out. "There's something we want to ask you."

Raya tamped down her irritation and glanced back at her.

"What is it?"

Frankie darted a look at Tanya who subtly nodded. Raya felt a kernel of distrust and suspicion worm its way into her irritation. Something was up.  _And is serious enough that they are putting aside their feelings towards me to ask for my help_.

"You're the one that is closest to Negan," Frankie began in a hushed tone. "You have the most unrestricted access to him."

"Yes." Raya slowly nodded. "I do."

"You could easily slip him something."

"Something?" One brow winged upwards. "Like?"

Not that she couldn't imagine what  _something_  they had in mind.

"Something he wouldn't detect," Tanya said. "Something odorless and tasteless. Something you could slip into his coffee or whiskey."

Suddenly, the answer for how a lethal dose of rat poison might have gotten into a bottle of whiskey delivered to Negan became clear. As did the one intended to ingest the contents of that bottle. Raya curled her fingers into her palms to keep from lashing out at both women. Their attempt to poison Negan led to the death of an innocent boy who just wanted to feel like a grown-up.

Not that she could prove that it was either woman who tampered with the bottle. The evidence was long gone, and each would deny it if she publicly accused them of doing it. However, it was not a crime that Raya would easily forgive or ever forget.  _I will be keeping my eye on the two of you from now on_ , she told them silently.  _One wrong move out of either of you and I will take you down_.

"And you imagine that I not only know something that will accomplish this," she murmured. "But that it is something I can easily get?"

"We know you know something that would work." There was an urgency about Frankie now that set Raya's teeth to gnashing. "Something that would get rid of Negan and allow someone else to take over."

"You, even," Tanya added as an aside. "Many of the people would accept you taking over as the leader."

"They listen to you now, as it is."

"What about Simon?" Raya asked in that dark rasp she reserved for her alter ego. Temper was making her reckless. She tried to smother it but found she couldn't. "He is Negan's right-hand man. Logically, he would be the one to take over in the event of his death."

"Most of the men hate Simon," Frankie pointed out. "Even Negan doesn't overly like him. That's why he doesn't have him staying here at the Sanctuary."

"Getting rid of both would make a lot of people happy," Tanya added. "Here and at the other compounds."

Fury raged in her, hot, roiling fury. It burned away the lingering fear and panic gripping her and brought a clarity she had been desperately needing.  _Never_ , she thought as she drew herself up to her full height and confronted the two women plotting murder.  _You will never hurt him. I will stop you. Same as I will stop that pasty-faced freak_.

"The King is the most important piece on the chessboard. He falls, and the game is over. However," her voice dropped an octave. She was the lioness protecting her pride now. "It is the Queen who is the most powerful. She makes the most moves and does everything necessary to protect the only piece on the board that matters to her: her King."

"Well, your fucking majesty," Negan rumbled from behind her a split second before his arm curled around her waist and drew her back against a rock-hard body still warm from sleep. "Why don't you get your cute lil' ass back in here and serve your King then?"

 _Shit_ , was her only thought as anger got replaced by shock.  _Shit, shit, shit_.


	6. Queen Loses to King

The instant he heard the bedroom door open, Negan awoke. He moved his arm off his face and turned his head to see Fin disappearing out into the hallway. He was about to call out to her, tell her to bring her cute lil' ass back to bed, but a muffled voice froze the words in his throat.

 _Who the fuck is she talking too_? he wondered, a frown darkening his brow. He strained to hear who the speakers were, but could only make out, "You so special?" before the door closed. Whatever her reply to the asshole she was talking to was, he didn't know.  _But I will sure as shit find out._

As Negan laid there, he pondered who among his people would have the balls to ask Fin that question.  _What sorry son of a bitch is taking issue with the fact she's sleeping in my fucking room_? Whoever it was, well, he'd deal with them.  _Personally_. It wasn't like he gave two squirts and a piss about what the fuck they, or any of his people for that matter, thought about what he chose to do with Fin.

She slept in his goddamn bed because he wanted her to sleep in his goddamn bed. Granted, he had heard the whispers making rounds. He knew what people were saying when they didn't think he was in earshot. They believed he gave special treatment to Fin. So, what if he did?

He had made it clear from the moment her stubbornness showed up with the body of Abby that he wanted her. And to his way of thinking, had her he sure as shit now did.  _No more running, baby doll_ , he thought, a grin spreading across his face.  _You are where you belong_. And she was damn well gonna keep her prickly ass there. He goddamn guaranteed it.

If his people didn't like it? Too fucking bad. Long as they did what he told them, long as they obeyed the rules, and long as they provided? Well, they could whisper all the fuck they wanted. Why should he give a shit about what they said about him or Fin? It wasn't like what they thought mattered all that much to him.

He was the King of this goddamn castle and his word here was absolute law. If he wanted Fin to sleep in his bed every fucking night of the week, well, then that's where her cute lil' ass was gonna sleep.

 _It's where she's gonna sleep from now on_ , he decided as he stared first at the closed-door, and then the space beside him.  _And that's fucking final_. If there was some sorry piece of shit who wanted to stand up and tell him to his face that he didn't like how he treated Fin, well, he'd first shake the son of a bitches hand for having the balls to step up, and then grab those nuts in a vice grip and tell them to mind their own fucking business from then on.

 _The only one who hasn't accepted shit is Miss Hoity-Toity_. Negan drew a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling.  _She will come to her senses._ Soon as that thought rolled through his mind, he discarded it. Fin coming to her senses would be the sign that the goddamn world was about to come to an end.  _Who needs the Four Horsemen ridin' across the fucking sky with her walking around?_

Negan could admit, albeit only to himself, that he admired Fin's tough as nails attitude, her iron will, sharp tongue, and intelligence. Nobody took care of Fin. She took care of herself. And he had to admit she did a right damn respectable job of it. He had never met a woman like Fin.

In truth, she was unlike any woman he had met before. Even his beloved Lucille wasn't a match for Fin's tactical skill and physical prowess. Lucille wouldn't wade into a horde of them undead fucks with the confidence of an Amazon, barking orders as she went, and rapid-firing arrows from that bow she used.

However, there were areas where the two women were almost identical. Fin's straightforward, no-nonsense, no bullshitting attitude was very much like Lucille's. She also could handle the petty, tedious and boring as shit domestic situations that popped up with the same dexterity his Lucille would have.

When he had to step in and hand down a stricter sentence, he could also count on her to bust his balls about it. Just like Lucille wouldn't have, Fin didn't keep her thoughts about his way of dealing with rule-breakers to herself. No, she roasted his nuts on the spit.

However, he never had to wonder if she would try to stick a knife between his ribs as he slept or put a lethal dose of rat poison in his favorite brand of whiskey. Loyalty was a religion to Fin. She was more fanatical about it than most priests. The only reason she hadn't become one of his wives before now was that she possessed some ridiculous schoolgirl fantasies about marriage.

He had abandoned those ideals when Lucille died. There was no need for monogamy.  _What purpose is there for a diet when your ass is starving_? Besides, the world needed every able man to help repopulate it. It was Darwin's theory of natural selection and how only the fittest genes would survive.  _And we will make some damn fine babies together_.

If Negan was honest with himself — really honest — he would admit that his refusal to get rid of his wives stemmed more from the fact that he didn't think himself able to remain faithful to one woman.  _Shit, I screwed around on Lucille. Lied to her. Wasn't there for her_.

A surge of never gone grief mixed with the guilt and self-hatred that was never far from him. He knew he was a sorry shit excuse for a husband. He didn't need a constant reminder of how much of an asshole he was for not doing right by his Lucille.

He wanted Fin, though. Almost enough he found himself tempted to concede to her demands and get rid of his other wives.  _Almost_. He just didn't want to do to her what he did to his Lucille. He didn't want to lie to Fin or screw around on her behind her back. It was best she accept things as they were and accustom herself to the fact that sticking to one type of candy wasn't his thing.

 _Not like it is hers_. Hell, he respected Fin for having scruples. One of the things he liked about her was that she not only had a set of principles but stuck to them. She told him no and she meant it.

Part of him, a deep, dark part of him, found himself more than a little turned on by that rigid moral code she possessed.  _Shit, she's somehow managed to never take a fucking life,_ he mused as he heard footsteps outside his door _._

In the world, before this fucked up one they were living in, he'd have respected her dedication and commitment to solving problems in her non-lethal fashion. However, this world taught him that only the strong survived. One needed to light a fire beneath peoples' asses.

Rules were rules for a reason.

He upheld those rules and enforced them not only for the benefit of himself but for all those in service to him. People best provided when they feared someone dying if they didn't.

Dying. Loss. It brought him back around to the question plaguing him for the last few days: what the fuck Fin was dreaming about that it had her sticking to him like a post-it note.

A team of wild horses couldn't tear her ass from his side. At first, her clinging to him amused him. And made him hornier than a Vikings helmet. Now, though? Her protectiveness was touching parts of him he thought long dead. Buried. Forgotten.

He didn't have an answer about who Fin was dreaming about. Or what the dream was for that matter. She refused to tell him about what happened in this so-called dream.  _Who the fuck is this mystery person she lost_? He pondered that as he folded his arms behind his head and waited for her to return.  _And why the fuck does dreaming about this shithead have her wake up screaming like a banshee_? He didn't know, but he damn sure aimed to find out.

He had also learned a lot about her these last few days. Fin might not need jack shit from him. Not in terms of food, clothes, or even protection. She took care of that shit for herself. She did need him, though. Whatever bullshit was hounding her, whoever this dream of hers was about, it rattled her enough to have her reach out to him for comfort and support.

Negan found he liked being the one she crawled on top of and nestled against when she got scared outta her wits. It let him take control and be the protector. A lesser man would take advantage of her when she was vulnerable. He refused to do that. He wanted Fin. He made no bones about that.

However, he wanted her warm and willing. When she turned to him in the depths of the night for comfort wasn't the right time to ply her with his charm. No, he rubbed her back, kissed her forehead, soothed her back to sleep, then tightened his arms around her and fell back into a deep, dreamless sleep himself. Until she gave him her full consent, he wouldn't touch her.  _Well_ , he amended as a slow grin spread across his face.  _I won't touch her in all the ways I'd like to touch her_.

He had learned one other thing about Fin in the three days she had been here. Her feelings for him had softened. A thaw had set in. She wasn't as immune to him as she pretended. What his feelings were for her remained unclear.

Love her?

No fucking way.

He didn't feel love. He didn't feel anything. Not happiness, sadness, nothing. Sure, he had gotten used to having her sweet body curled up next to his at night. And yes, he enjoyed having her around to talk with, plan shit with.

He just liked  _her_.

He ignored the voice in the back of his head that called him a fucking liar and a coward.

Grimacing, he threw back the covers, sat up, and scrubbed his hands over his face. He knew himself too well not to know what the addictive surge of possessiveness that swept him every time he saw her meant. Right now, it meant going and finding her cute lil' ass. He grabbed his pants, pulled them on, and then padded barefoot to the door.

If Fin was anywhere in the Sanctuary, it was with Carson. He'd look there first. He pulled open the door in time to hear Fin reply to whatever it was that his wives, Frankie and Tanya said to her.

"The King is the most important piece on the chessboard. He falls, and the game is over. However." Her voice was deeper, just a few degrees deeper than it was normally. It wound its way into his belly and shot a bolt of heat to his lower appendage. "It is the Queen who is the most powerful. She makes the most moves and does everything necessary to protect the only piece on the board that matters to her: her King."

Triumph streaked through Negan at her words. Mentally, he crowed. He'd finally gotten the admission he had waited for.  _Got you now, baby doll,_  he thought as he cut a look at Frankie and Tanya. Their faces went whiter than Casper the friendly ghost and their eyes popped wide as silver dollars.  _I'll deal with you two later_ , he told them silently before indicating with a finger that they could take themselves back to their room.

Making sure his wives understood their place in his kingdom could wait a while. He had other things to do.  _Like trap a Queen with her own words_. Outwardly, his expression revealed nothing. Inwardly, he was grinning like a Cheshire Cat. He watched Frankie and Tanya beat it back to their private room before finally addressing the woman standing with her feet splayed apart, and her hands fisted on her shapely hips.

"Well, your fucking majesty," he rumbled as he curled an arm around her waist and drew her back against him. "Why don't you get your cute lil' ass back in here and take care of your King."

…

His whiskey-rough voice set her heart to fluttering while the arm he curled possessively around her sent her pulse to racing.  _Shit,_ Raya thought as she allowed him to pull her back against his still sleep-warm body _. Shit, shit, shit_. How long had he been standing there? How much of the conversation between her and the co-conspirators had he overheard? That he hadn't immediately bellowed for any of the men to come and take the girls away suggested he hadn't heard what Tanya proposed. That, at least, was a relief.

As annoyed as she was by the two women, and angered as she was by their failed attempt to poison Negan — subsequently leading to the death of a child — she did not want to see them get punished.  _Or suffer a fate that was even worse than whatever punishment he could come up with_.

No, she'd deal with them in her own way. Send them to Harley if needs be. Anything that would get them away from Negan — who they clearly had no love or affection for — and prevent Negan from discovering their complicity in the poisoning.

"Well, my Queen? You ready to serve your King?"

Raya felt a none-too-subtle shift in the energy around her. A trap was closing in on her and she only had herself to blame for it. He wasn't going to let her brash comment slide. She had wasted what precious little time she had to make her way from the Sanctuary on her conversation with Frankie and Tanya.

Now she was gonna have to think of some other way to get out of the Sanctuary and to her scheduled meeting with Jesus without it causing Negan to either want to go with her or send men with her as protection.

 _That's if he even agrees to let me leave the Sanctuary after my rash statement about being the queen protecting her king_.

"You're reading more into my comment than you should."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are." She angled her head back and met his gaze. Instantly, she understood the source of that energy. And who its focus was on. His message was transparent. There was no escape. Not this time. Suddenly breathless, horribly disconcerted, and feeling as if invisible bars were closing around her, Raya fidgeted and fought to keep her face, her tone, carefully, neutrally blank. "This doesn't make me your wife, Negan."

"Oh?" He all but purred the word. "It doesn't?"

"Not in the slightest."

"See, now that's where you got shit wrong, baby doll."

Raya stifled a vitriolic curse.  _Stupid_! How could she have been so foolish? Didn't she know to watch her words in this place?  _Negan has eyes and ears everywhere_ , she thought as she took a deep, calming breath.  _Things get back to him. One word said to the wrong person_...

"I'm not your wife."

"The Queen does everything necessary to protect the only piece on the board that matters to her: her King." He parroted her earlier words back at her with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. " _Queen_ , darlin'. That's what you called your cute lil' ass."

"What if I did?" She lifted her chin. "It doesn't mean I am your wife."

"Apples to fucking oranges."

"No," she denied with a slight shake of her head. "It just means I hold the distinction of being the acting queen when I am here at the Sanctuary."

"And the Queen," he rumbled as he folded his other arm around her. "Is also commonly called the King's  _wife_." His hands splayed across her belly, warm and subtly suggestive. "So,  _wife_ , get the fuck back inside so we can discuss a few of them Queenly duties you've been neglecting."

Raya dragged in a breath past the familiar vice locked about her lungs, praying for the ground to either open up and swallow her whole or some other calamity to occur that would distract him from her faux pas. Neither event occurred. Raya harrumphed and attempted to fix the mess she made by clarifying the intent behind her words.

"The only reason I even referred to myself as the queen," she explained with as much patience as she could muster, "is because the ones who should be functioning in that role have no interest in it."

"A King." His lips grazed her ear. "Is not complete without his Queen."

"A King is also only as strong as his Queen."

The instant she spoke the words, she regretted them.  _Stupid!_  She inwardly groaned.  _How can you be so stupid?_

"That's the third fucking time you've stated you're my Queen, darlin'. And this time?" He nodded his head towards the crowd gathered below. "You've said it with a full and attentive audience listening."

"That means nothing." Raya sniffed. "Merely words. They know that."

"Will they believe them words is the question, baby doll."

Raya's world tilted as she stared down at the three dozen or so people watching from below. Their faces all said they believed what she said.

She was his queen.

 _He's got me right where he wants me_ , she realized as her mouth went dry.  _And he knows it_.

Her world had already tipped. Now, it reeled. Her heart thudded in her throat. Her gut clenched. She racked her brain, trying to think of some way that she could extract herself from the trap she managed to spring on herself.

 _Only have me to blame for this mess_ , she realized as he carefully nudged her back into his room.

"Now, wife, get your cute lil' ass inside."

 _Shit_ , she thought for the third time.  _Shit, shit, shit. Now, what the hell am I supposed to do_?


	7. The Queen's Admission

Soon as the door closed behind them, Raya rounded on Negan. She had to dig herself out of the hole she created somehow. Logic seemed like the best option. Negan was a reasonable man...  _sometimes_.

"You know my calling myself your queen changes nothing between us."

"Well, now, darlin', I tend to disagree with you there." He smiled like the cat with a bowl full of cream set before him. "I think this shit changes everything between us."

"Not for me it doesn't." She folded her arms across her chest, notched her chin, and splayed her feet apart. Her stubborn stance as her kids liked to call it. Raya thought it more like the one that warriors took when they were staring down a particularly challenging enemy. "My position remains the same, Negan. I won't be your wife until you get rid of the other women. I haven't changed my mind about that. And," she added with a pointed look, "I won't."

"You've already stated you're my queen," he reminded her as he slowly prowled towards her. A jungle cat stalking its prey.  _And I'm his prey_ , she thought as she drew a shallow breath. "You've made your fucking bed, baby doll. Now it's time we-"

"Oh, we know what  _you_  think it's time we do in that bed," she grumbled, heat suffusing her cheeks. "I just can guarantee that it won't be happening. Not until you rid yourself of your extra wives."

A shadow passed through Negan's eyes; the planes of his face set. He didn't like her backpedaling. She knew he didn't. Giving in without him making some allowances wasn't an option. Not for her. He looked down at her, inched towards her. He was attempting to intimidate her, which was laughable considering she had been raised by Batman.

However, there was no immediate threat in his demeanor. He was just frustrated by her refusal to play a game of mattress bingo with him. Well, that was tough. She may have foolishly and recklessly run off at the mouth out in the hall, but she hadn't taken complete leave of her senses.

 _If he wants me then he will do this for me_.

"How much more do you fucking want outta me, Fin? Haven't I given you everything that I can?"

The words, uttered low, forcefully, from less than a foot away, bounced against her defenses. Raya felt the walls around her heart weaken, split, and all the emotions he kept a tight lid on, seep through to touch her. She felt herself softening. It took all her willpower to shut them out and seal up the crack in her shields.

"No." She shook her head. "I will not bend. Not on this. I cannot. It goes against everything I am to consent to becoming part of some  _collection_."

Her bitterness rang clearly. Shame filled her. She bowed her head, bit the inside of her cheek, and tried to think of a way to explain her feelings without upsetting him further. Explaining, though required her to open doors and vaults she hadn't opened in decades.

"Goddamn it," he growled through clenched teeth. "You're the one who announced yourself as her royal fucking majesty."

"Then give me the respect I am due as your queen."

"I'm giving you the fucking respect you deserve as my queen." Raya lifted her gaze to his. His face was a mask of hard angles and planes— determination incarnate. "You sleep in my goddamn bed. You have a say in a lot of the shit that goes on here. I give you every fucking thing you could goddamn want. What the fuck more do you want or need?"

 _What more, indeed_? A voice in the back of her head questioned. Most women would leap at what he offered. They'd rejoice at having a man want her as much as he did. However, she wasn't most women. Her fathers raised her to believe that if a man loved a woman — truly loved her — then he would commit himself to her, and her only. How to get that through to him was the question. Negan calmly waited for her reply. When she said nothing, he straightened and reached out to cup her arm.

"It's settled then."

She shook her head.

"I haven't changed my mind, Negan."

He stepped closer, towering over her. "Well, fucking change it, Fin."

"No, I won't change it. If you want me... you know what you need to do."

"Fin..."

Raya stiffened her spine as he took another step. She wouldn't be cowed by him or any man. She raised her hands and pushed against his chest. Subtly warning him to tread lightly. Not that he would. The man wasn't known to back down when he felt he was in the right.

"Stop it," she commanded. "I won't be intimidated by you or any man."

"I'm not trying to intimidate you, darlin'." The words were a lethal purr. "I'm trying to convince you to change that pretty lil' mind of yours."

Raya harrumphed.

"Well, I'm not."

"Give me one good reason for why you can't accept shit as it is." He held up a finger to stop her from repeating why she couldn't agree to his terms. "Give me something other than that monogamy shit you're always prattling on about."

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"Because I won't become my mother."

She instantly wanted to call them back but knew she couldn't. The contents of the jar were now spilled out on the floor. She would now have to deal with them. Negan frowned as he looked at her.

"What the fuck does your mother have to do with shit between us?"

She told herself to lie, to prevaricate, to distract him by saying something flirtatious. However, she couldn't bring herself to do any of those things. Especially the last.  _That's just inviting trouble_ , she thought as she drew in a shaky breath. She had never outright lied to him about anything other than her name. Whenever he asked her a question about herself she simply omitted the unnecessary details and told him the bare minimum necessary.

She was treading dangerous waters here because her family history was something she had told the man Negan worked for.  _And I don't know how much Slade has told him because I don't ever question him about his dealings with Slade_. Still, she settled on the truth. Insomuch as she could tell of it.

"My mother traded everything — her pride, dignity, self-respect, personal safety, even her own daughter — for the privilege of wealth and social prestige."

 _Odd_ , she thought. Odd to still have this resentment, this bitterness, this hurt still inside her.

"Tell me about her." The hand around her arm gentled. "How did she meet your father?"

"It was at a disaster relief fundraiser. She was eighteen. He was six years older, and everything a girl just out of high school could want. Sophisticated, cultured, rich."

Negan took a seat in the overstuffed armchair. "Was being rich important to her?"

"It was to my grandmother, yes."

"Why? Money doesn't mean shit if you're fucking unhappy."

"Grandmother came from money, but the family didn't move in the same social circles as my father did. They weren't as rich, high-powered or glamorous as the Van Buren's, Rochefort's, or Wayne's. They didn't share a table with them or sit in the same boxes as they did at the opera. Mother once said that he made her feel...  _grateful_  that he paid her any attention whatsoever given their social differences." She shook her head. "How sick is that?"

"She was a fucking kid. What the fuck did she know about the world?"

"Nothing. Which is what he used to trap her in his web. He used her lack of worldliness, experience, her age. He flirted with her, danced with her, gave her his undivided attention. The day after he met her, he sent her a dozen roses. Red roses," she whispered, rubbing arms that were suddenly chilled. "It was always red roses he sent her. A symbol of his affection."

Leather creaked as he leaned forward.

"Is that why you hate them?"

"Red roses?"

"Yeah."

"Yes." She stared unseeing at the far wall. "It's one of the reasons, anyway."

"What's the other reason?"

A vase of roses tumbled from her mental vault towards a floor now like polished marble. Her knees threatened to buckle, and her breath started coming in short, ice-edged bursts that made her chest and throat burn.

"They remind me of blood," she managed around the knives poking her in the chest. "That's the real reason for why I hate them. And lilies." She shuddered as a memory of that smell assaulted her. "I can't stand lilies any more than I can red roses."

"They're associated with death."

"Yes, they are." She looked at him from over her shoulder. "They're a disgusting reminder of it, in fact."

"He sent her roses." He sat back. "What the fuck happened next?"

"He asked her to dinner, the theater, the opera. He escorted her to his social functions and to lavish parties held by the most exclusive members of Gotham high society. He canceled business meetings, put off his clients, his friends, made it clear he was reorganizing his schedule, his life, all for her. He dazzled her, twisted her around his finger so that when he asked her to marry him, she didn't even think twice about accepting."

"How long after they started dating did they marry."

"Less than three months." Her lips twisted into a sneer. "The newspapers called it the romance of the century. The only thing more romantic, more fabulous was Princess Diana marrying Prince Charles."

_And look how well their marriage turned out._

"Her fucking family didn't think something was wrong there? That shit was moving too fast?"

"Grandfather had reservations, urged my mother to slow down, take her time, really get to know my father. She didn't listen. She was in love."

"And it fucking cost her."

"Yes." She nodded. "It did."

"When the abuse start?"

"From the moment he moved her into his private estate. He made it all seem perfectly reasonable. He was older, wiser, more experienced than her. If he told her she needed to change her dress, her hair, well, he was only doing it to save her embarrassment. If he felt she was cultivating friendships with people who were not acceptable socially, well, it was only to save her from public humiliation.

He told her how to look, taught her how to behave, and when she pleased him by performing as he commanded, she would get a little treat. A diamond bracelet for not embarrassing him at dinner that night. Sapphire earrings when she hosted a dinner party hailed as an immense success. Emeralds when she managed to get him an invitation to the Governor's Ball."

"She didn't see this shit was happening?"

"No." She shook her head. "She was so young, so in love, she didn't realize she was being systematically manipulated, and isolated from the very people who might have managed to help her escape before things got worse."

"When did he start hittin' her?"

"My grandmother and grandfather were killed a year after they were married. Their car hit a light pole during a bad storm. They were killed instantly," she said, voice thickening. "Father was kind, supportive. Made all the arrangements, even flew my aunt and uncle home for the funeral. To the world, he was everything a loving husband should be.

Soon as they got home from the funeral, though, he turned into a monster. He knocked her down, ranted and raved about how he had to take time away from his work to deal with her ridiculous needs, slapped her when she started to cry, insinuated she embarrassed him by not being more composed in public." A frown creased her brow. "He never used his fists, though. He always hit her with an open hand."

"Why?"

"It was more degrading to him, I think. Or," she breathed out on a tired sigh, "it just prolonged the pleasure he got from the pain he inflicted. I imagine it was a bit of both. Anyway." Surprised she had revealed as much as she had, she waved a hand dismissively in the air. "You don't need a full accounting of what happened. He abused her, she took it. End of story."

"Why not go to the police if he was such an abusive fuck?"

"She did go to the police. He had a lot of friends on the force, in the district attorney and mayor's offices. Nobody believed her."

"Why the fuck not?"

"She had a couple of bruises, but nothing severe or noteworthy."

"They just dismissed her claims."

"Called it a simple misunderstanding and that she needed to work it out for herself. Of course, when he found out what she did, he made sure she understood what would happen if she ever humiliated him like that again."

"Why didn't she just leave the fuck?"

"Because he told her he would kill her if she ever tried to leave him. She belonged to him, and he wasn't going to let her go. Mind you, he told her said this while his hands were wrapped around her throat. She had nowhere to go, nobody to turn too, and no one who believed her. After that she was stuck."

"How was she stuck? She could have still left his ass."

"I had come along." Her shoulders bowed as guilt settled upon them. "My birth made things go from bad to worse."

He cocked his head to the side, studying her with eyes that saw too much.

"She stayed and put you through that shit because she was too goddamn scared to leave."

"She'd be penniless if she left him." Bitterness edged her tone. "She'd be cast out of the social circles she once reigned as queen and forced to take a menial job to support herself and the abomination she dared give birth too."

Silence fell between them. Raya found herself wondering what he was thinking. A glance at his face told her nothing. Finally, he stirred and looked up at her.

"The sorry shit ever lay a hand on you?" The cold anger in his voice pierced her bitterness and brought on a wave of anxiety that left her shaking. "Fin?"

She was to wound up to sit, so she paced from the chair to the bed. The familiar bands of panic started to set in. She tamped the anxiety down with a surge of will that amazed her before nodding jerkily.

"Once," she said. "When I was little."

"Just once?"

"He slapped me once when I was eight." Her voice became a monotone. "Broke my wrist when I was sixteen." She tilted her head to show him the thin, jagged line permanently etched into her throat. "And he gave me this on my thirty-fifth birthday."

"He did that to you?" He wasn't acting exactly as she'd imagined he would. How she thought he should react, she didn't know. She just didn't expect the quiet rage, hurt or sorrow. "The fucking fuck tried to fucking  _kill_  you?"

"His final gift to me." Her voice was calm, just a bit detached. Yet inside she felt like a volcano about to erupt. "Something to remember  _daddy_  by."

She let him absorb that in silence. Finally, he shifted, sitting forward in the chair and holding out his hand.

"C'mere, darlin'."

"I'm okay."

He ignored her by hooking her hand and pulling her into his lap. She gave up, gave in, and pillowed her head on his shoulder. She found she was suddenly weary despite the increased amount of sleep she had gotten the last few days.

"I'm not him." His hand rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles. "And you sure as shit aren't your mother."

"I know that." She sighed softly. "I do know that." She lifted her head to look at him. "It's still there, though, Negan. In the back of my head. The voice of that little girl who saw her mother trade herself for a bunch of fancy trinkets, and life on easy street."

"I don't give you shit to buy your affection."

"I know you don't."

"I haven't ever raised a fucking hand to you."

"I know you haven't."

"I won't ever raise a goddamn hand to you." She froze when he traced a finger over her scar. Nobody, not even Dick was ever allowed to touch that mark. Instead of instantly pulling away, as she did when anyone got to close to that mark, she remained still. If she was testing him or her, she didn't know. She just didn't feel as disconcerted by him touching something so ugly as she did the members of her own family. "You know I don't allow this sort of shit to happen here. Shit, you know I fucking hate punishing women. Men? I can do that all day long. But I don't like punishing women."

"I know."

There was a pause.

"He alive?"

"No." She rest her head back on his shoulder. "No, he was killed the night he tried to kill me."

Only silently did she add,  _By the man you've agreed to help find me_.

"Son of a fucking bitch deserved it."

"Yeah." The admission came easily despite a voice telling her it shouldn't. "Yeah, he did. He was a monster who terrorized his wife and child for no reason other than because he enjoyed the power he had over them."

"That's not me, baby doll." His arm draped around her. "I'm not a goddamn monster."

"No, you're not," she agreed. "Even though I don't always agree with your methods or the punishments that you hand out, I don't see you as a monster. I lived with a monster. I have fought monsters my entire life. I know the difference."

"I also don't want you because you're some sort of goddamn trophy." His hand stroked her side. Subtly enticing and soothing at the same time. "You're more than a fucking trophy, Fin. You know that you are."

"I know I'm not a trophy to you." And she did know that. However, it wasn't just ending up as a toy he'd discard or a trophy he'd let grow dusty on a shelf that she feared to become. "You seem to think I don't want to become your wife. Clearly, there's a part of me that does. I wouldn't have let my mouth run if there was not some truth in the words."

"Then what's the fucking problem?"

"It's self-worth." She slid her hand to his shoulder, thumb lightly tracing the ridge of his collarbone. "My father turned my mother into a nothing because that's what she was to him. Nothing. A nobody. Her only worth to him was in the sons she could give him. And she couldn't even do that. She gave him a worthless daughter."

His fingers curled into the material of her dress.

"He was a fucking dumb fuck for thinking that shit."

"I've struggled with my self-worth for years," she said softly. "That's why I can't accept your terms. It's not simply because I have some ridiculous notions about monogamy. It's also because I have a deep-seeded need to know I am worth everything to the man I choose. I need him to want me and only me. And that's not something you're ready or able to do."

He was quiet for several minutes. Raya imagined he was trying to think of a rebuttal. Finally, he stirred and dropped his other arm around her before pulling the rug right out from underneath her.

"Who the fuck says?"


	8. Dose of Reality

Raya's heart fluttered with a mixture of awe and shock as his softly uttered words punched a tiny hole in her anxiety.  _Is he saying he does want me and only me_? The thought brought on a heavy dose of fear and renewed panic.

Of everything swirling around inside her at that moment, it was the fear that was strongest of all. Exactly what it was she was afraid of, she couldn't say. The one thing she could say with absolute certainty was that she wasn't afraid of  _him_. That fact became clear as she revealed her innermost secrets to him.

There was a level of trust, of comfort with Negan. It was almost the same as what she felt with members of her friends and family. The only difference was that she allowed Negan to touch the scar on her throat that nobody — absolutely  _nobody_  — was ever allowed to touch. Not without tensing up or barking at them to get the hell away from her.

That he could touch her in such an intimate way meant something.

 _He_  meant something.

Much more than she thought he did and much more than she was comfortable with acknowledging.

She just didn't know what she meant to him.

 _Is it the not knowing that has me twisted in so many knots_? she wondered as she slid her fingers into the hair at his nape.  _Or is it that I'm afraid of finding out the answer and then having it all yanked away again_? Of the two scenarios, she leaned towards the latter being more of the driving force behind her over-anxious state than anything else.

She had lost at the game of love once already. To lose again would destroy what little faith she still possessed in love. The only thing she did not believe was that he was ready to agree to her request. He would have already gotten rid of Frankie and Tanya and the rest if he intended to commit himself to her.

 _Right_?

She frowned as that thought wormed its way through her mind, poking holes in her defenses and opening pockets inside her heart that left her shaken to the core. Raya was almost certain he would have made the women go to one of his other depots if he meant to pledge his complete fidelity to her.

The one thing she learned about him was the most prevalent aspect of all: he was nothing if not persistently consistent.

If Negan wanted something, he found a way to get it.  _And he has made it clear from almost the day we met that one of the things he wants is me_. However, there was an enormous difference between wanting her as his bed partner and as his life mate.

One merely scratched a momentary itch he had while the other was someone who would stand at his side.

 _Like a queen stands at the side of her king_. She ignored that thought. Announcing herself as his queen had gotten her in far enough trouble as it was. Negan acknowledged her outburst but hadn't specified if her role was merely a token one or not.  _Am I his queen in all things or am I merely his queen when I'm in his bed_? That was what she didn't know.  _And what I need to find out._

Sure, for the last year and a half he had worked at not only getting her in his bed, but in securing her agreement to stay here as one of his wives. To soften her resistance, he used his undeniable charm. He seduced her with his keen intellect and sharp wit. Flattered her with compliments related to her skills and not her physical attributes. Reminded her she was a desirable woman by giving her gifts specifically designed to convey that fact.

Raya couldn't deny his methods were not effective at securing her attention. Clearly, her brash admission out in the hall more than said how well his tactics managed to work.

However, just because she found herself interested — deeply so — did not mean he had completely won her over. There was still one —  _well, technically, two_ , she silently amended — points of contention between them that needed solving before they could even discuss her becoming a wife.

The first, of course, was his other wives. She would not bend on that fact. Frankie, Tanya, and the others had to go before she would agree to become his wife in the truest, fullest sense of the word.

The other point, though, and the biggest one between them was her children. She had never told Negan she was a mother to a son on the edge of fifteen and a daughter who turned thirteen a few short weeks ago. Before she could act on her feelings, she needed to discuss them with her children. Their vote was important.  _If they don't approve of him_... she sighed and pushed her thoughts aside. It didn't matter if they approved or not.

 _How did it get to this_?

Negan should only have been a means to an end. Ah, but she hadn't counted on developing feelings for him. She hadn't foreseen that he'd become more than a tool she exploited for her own benefit.

Negan was now as much a part of her as her own family.

Before things went any further, she needed to tell him the truth. Her conscience couldn't allow things to go on until he knew everything.  _He deserves that much,_ she reasoned as she drew in a shallow breath.  _It's time I tell him who I am and what connection I have to the man he's working for_.

"Negan—" she began but he cut her off.

"Who the fuck says?"

She ignored his question. There would be time later to answer that, she reasoned as she screwed up her floundering courage to try again. Once he had his temper tantrum and raked her over the proverbial fire for her deception they could resume this discussion.  _If he doesn't toss me out on my ear first_...

"I want to tell you..."

"Who the fuck says I don't want you?"

Her breath hitched at his words. However, her overactive brain interpreted them exactly as it believed he meant them.

"I know that you want me," she said with a small sigh. "That's never been an issue."

"Then what the fuck do you mean? What is it that you don't think I'm capable or ready of?"

"I said I need a man to want me and  _only_  me. That's what I don't think you're ready or capable of."

"Who says I don't?"

Raya strove for patience. Getting testy with him wasn't going to do anything other than pissing him off.  _And I'm already going to do that when I tell him that I'm the woman he's been hired to turn over to Slade_.

"The fact that you have not gotten rid of your wives would be one reason I can think of to substantiate why you're not ready or capable of fully committing yourself to me."

"Who says I haven't, baby doll?"

"You—" she paused, frowned. "You haven't committed yourself since they're still living next door."

"So?"

"Well," she said slowly, "part of getting rid of them means sending them elsewhere..."

He rolled his eyes. "There's no fucking need to send them away."

"But..."

"You're a goddamn detective." He turned his head and pinned her with a look that threatened to obliterate the shields she barely had gotten back up. "Examine the facts. What do they tell you?"

 _The facts_? One brow winged up.  _What facts? What's he talking about_? She was about to ask him when a little voice that sounded like Harley's whispered, 'You know what he's talking 'bout.'

 _No, I don't_ , she retorted as he looked away.  _I don't have any clue whatsoever about what facts he's talking about_.

'Sure, you do. They're all around you.'

 _All around me_? Her other brow winged up to join the first.  _What are you talking about_?

'The gifts he gives you, the dinners he cooks, the walks he takes you on, the movies he chooses for you to watch... what do you think that all is for?'

 _His way of plying me with his charm_.

'Duh,' came Harley's huffy response. 'But why do you think he does all those things he does for you?'

 _Because he wants to get me into his bed_.

'He's already got you in his bed,' that cool, logical voice pointed out. Much to Raya's dismay. 'You've been sleeping in his bed for how many nights now?'

 _That's sleeping_... she argued.  _Not sleeping following a round of what you like to call hot monkey sex_.

'Apples to oranges,' Harley countered with that little sniff she got when she found someone being incredibly thick-witted. 'You're still in his bed. And before you even try it... you're there because  _you_  wanna be there.'

Raya swallowed the litany of Negan-isms that sprang to her lips as that bit of logic slapped her upside the back of her head. There was no argument she could make that countered the truth in those words.

She did sleep in Negan's bed. He wanted her to sleep there. And she wanted to sleep there. She enjoyed sleeping beside him. And waking up with him still there beside her come morning.

 _I shouldn't find myself comfortable sleeping in the same bed with him_ , she told Harley.  _I shouldn't find it comforting to wake up with his hand on my ass. Or to know that he's there to comfort me when I can't deal with my nightmares on my own._

'Why shouldn't you?'

_Because I should deal with these things on my own._

'You ain't gotta be the strong one all the time.'

 _No,_ she begrudgingly agreed. _But I shouldn't fall to pieces like I have and need him like I do_.

'You can have needs,' Harley said gently. 'And you're allowed to feel afraid.'

 _I know._..

'And you can reach out to him and ask him for comfort when you're afraid.'

 _Maybe_ , she allowed finally.

'You can't run from the truth anymore, Doc. You gotta accept you got feelings for the big lug. Especially since you can't take back what you said outside in that hallway. You're his queen.'

Raya swallowed a groan.

_How do you know what I said?_

'I'm in your head, remember? Everything you think, feel or say I know about.'

 _Ah, right_.

Later, she'd decide how she felt about having such an in-depth conversation with a voice inside her head. For now, she just told Harley,  _It doesn't matter, anyway. Once I tell him who I am, things will change._

'You don't know that.'

 _He won't be happy that I have kept things from him_.

'Everything you know about him... do you honestly believe he will turn you or Rosebud over to Slade Wilson?'

That immediately snatched her attention away from the rest of the things rolling around inside her head. Would Negan turn her over to Slade? No, she didn't think he would. In his mind, she was his woman. Any man who tried to take her from him would be introduced to Lucille.

Would he turn Rose over to Slade, though? That was the question she internally struggled with.

 _No_. She said finally.  _No, he wouldn't give Rose to Slade. He would see her as mine and thus also as his because she is mine._

'He's nothing if not consistent, right?'

_What's that got to do with anything?_

'It's got everything to do with things, Doc. It's tellin' you what you need to know.'

Raya felt the start of a grand headache forming behind her eyes. She must have made some small sound of distress because the hand on her lower back started to move in slow, soothing circles. She relaxed against him with a tiny, contented sigh. A little harrumph sounded.

'See? Can't deny that him soothing you is what you wanted there.'

That hand drifted dangerously close to her backside.

 _See?_ Raya snarked. _He's consistent. It's part of who he is_.  _I doubt he will ever change._

'He's already changed. You just revidently to let yourself see it.'

 _He won't give up his other women_.

'Ever thought 'bout why he won't give up his other women?'

_It's because he doesn't see any reason to limit himself to one woman. Why go on a diet when the world has gone to shit is what he says._

'That's what he tells you and himself to justify his logic.' Annoyance laced Harley's tone. 'But have you ever stopped to wonder  _why_  he keeps those women?'

 _Because he doesn't see the need to get rid of them. He just said so a few minutes ago_.

'No, what he said is there was no need to send them away.'

_Apples to oranges._

She was being petulant now, but dammit, she didn't know what Harley wanted her to say. Negan wasn't going to get rid of his wives. No matter how much he claimed he wanted her, he still wouldn't prove how much he valued her by getting rid of them.

'Ever stopped to think that why he doesn't get rid of 'em is 'cause he doesn't trust himself to remain faithful to you?'

 _That's not even logi_...

'C'mon, Doc.' Raya imagined that if the petite blonde was standing in front of her that she would have her fists on her hips, her lips screwed up into a pout, and one foot tapping in agitation. 'A man who refuses to commit himself is...'

 _Either afraid of commitment because of issues stemming from childhood or because he has strayed from his marriage vows before_.

'And which of those sounds most like Negan?'

 _The one who has strayed before_...

'And given how his bat was named after his wife...'

Raya's world tilted even further as the truth crashed over her. Was that why he kept a harem of women? Because he cheated on his first wife? She could believe it. The few times when he did mention his wife there was always such guilt in his voice, on his face.

 _He is nothing if not consistent_ , she said to Harley.  _He would see he has already cheated on the woman he loved with his whole heart and so would choose never to hurt another woman like that again_.

'Keeping a buncha women as a reminder of his past infidelity is no different from an alcoholic keeping a bottle of booze to remind themselves to fight the temptation.'

 _Only he chooses to indulge in his addiction. He freely admits he loves being balls deep in whatever wife he feels like gracing with his attention_.

'Ain't been diddlin' them the last few weeks.'

 _Doesn't mean he won't backslide whenever the urge hits_. Her fingers curled over his heart.  _Just like any addict, he can fall back into his addiction_.

'Not every addict falls off the wagon.'

 _I can't take that chance_ , Raya told her.  _I have more than just me to think of here. Kai and Rose deserve stability and to have the one thing I've never been able to give them: a father_.

Other voices joined Harley's then, some calling her a coward, some telling her to give him a chance. However, another voice, one that was becoming the most prevalent of all, begged her to follow her gut. Not that she expected Jesus's vocalizations to carry any sort of ringing endorsement for the man currently stroking her hip in slow, lazy circles.

Where Harley, Pamela Isley, and even Selina Kyle all urged her to give Negan a chance to prove himself, Paul "Jesus" Rovia entreated her to get as far away from him as she could. Before she could tell them all to shut up and let her think, Negan spoke.

"Well?"

"What does it matter, Negan?" Raya heaved a sigh. "The facts don't change anything here. You still have more wives than I can accept."

"So, nothing I've done is fucking good enough?"

His tone was carefully, neutrally blank. Yet Raya heard the thin sliver of hurt undercoating his words.

"Of course, it is good enough for me." She lifted her head to look at him. "You've..."

"Danced a merry fucking jig for you, darlin'."

That brought Raya up short. For a moment, she could do nothing but gape at him. Had he danced a merry jig for her? It didn't seem possible. Not with everything she knew about him.

However, there was an inelegant snort in the back of her head followed by Harley muttering, 'Duh... what do you think all them gifts he gives you are for? Why do you think he makes you those dinners, takes you on those walks, insists upon havin' private time with you? It's 'cause he been courtin' you.'

Shock, absolute and overpowering, held her silent. For a minute, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock. Raya recovered, if that was even the right word for it, by dragging in an unsteady breath. There was a sense of unreality surrounding her.

Almost like she was inside some crazy sorta dream world.

She glanced at Negan's face, but he steadfastly refused to look at her. His gaze was directed to where Lucille was resting atop the pillows set on top of the headboard. Remembering, she decided as she stroked her fingers over his collarbone.

"You've been courting me?" She couldn't quite keep the surprise from her voice. "You've actually been  _courting_  me?"

He sent her a disgruntled look.

"Why the fuck is that so goddamn surprising?"

"Because you've never treated any of your other women like you've treated..." her voice trailed off as realization dawned. "Oh..."

Negan looked at her then, his expression one of wry amusement.

"Well," he drawled. "It's 'bout time the world's greatest fucking detective gets it."

Those particular words set off alarm bells inside Raya. Was it possible he knew who she was and been feigning ignorance this whole time?  _Does he know I am Fenix?_ A look at his face told her nothing. Not that she expected it would. Negan was a master at concealing his thoughts and emotions.

She hadn't slipped up.

She was positive her cover was still secure.

However, a part of her couldn't accept his choice of words as mere coincidence. They meant something. She just wasn't sure what that  _something_  might be. She was about to ask when someone pounded on the door. Negan grumbled a few choice things under his breath before calling out to the intruder.

"What the fuck is it?" Only she was the one to hear him add, "And this better be really fucking important or else some sorry shit is gonna get their nuts cracked."


	9. Unwelcome Interruption

The door creaked open a half of an inch, but it was enough that whichever one of the dumb shits decided to come bug him could say, "Boss, hey, we, uh, we gotta problem out here." A pause. "Uhm, afraid you're gonna have to come and handle it."

 _Fat Joey._  He shoulda known it would be that rotund son of a bitch coming to rain on his parade.  _Like fucking always_. If it wasn't that he knew better, he'd swear Fat Joey intentionally disturbed him just to keep him from getting cozy with Fin.

"And what fucking problem is it that you think I need to come and handle?"

 _And why the fuck does it need handling when I'm right in the middle of getting Fin's cute lil' ass to see the shit she's been missing_? He didn't add that part. It wasn't crap that Fat Joey's ass needed to know about. Far as he was concerned, what happened between him and Fin was between them. This was their private domain, their world away from the one outside the Sanctuary's thick walls.

Whatever they said or did in here was their business. Sure, people would run their mouths. He expected that. Gossiping was as much a part of human nature as sex and violence. Long as they kept the talk among themselves and didn't try any shit, he could give a fuck less about what all they said. If they tried anything like Frankie and Tanya did, though...

"Darren caught the thief."

One brow shot up as that piece of anticipated information finally got divulged.

"The one that's been taking food and medicine without permission?"

"Uh, yeah."

Negan eyed the woman seated so prettily in his lap, trying to gauge her thoughts, but seeing nothing on that staggering face that gave him so much as one damn clue about what was going through her complicated little mind. The other times Fin's cute lil' ass had been around when he needed to hand out punishments had resulted in huge fights and her leaving.

He wanted to avoid that scenario this time. If it was at all possible. However, he couldn't deny there wasn't a part of him that wasn't itching to go out there and give people a clear reminder of what the consequences of stealing shit were.

The other part of him, the one doing way too much fucking talking as of late, didn't want to shift his focus off Fin. Not when he finally had her opening up and telling him the real reason for why she wouldn't concede to staying here as his wife.

He was close to telling Fat Joey to just toss the thief in the yard with the undead fucks and call it a day.

However, he knew Fin would set up a fuss if he did that. She was quite predictable in that regard.  _And she's been more sensitive about the yard since shit went down a few days ago_. He still hadn't managed to pry the reason for her reaction out of her.  _But I sure as shit will after I handle this complete crapfest_.

If he was being honest — really honest — with himself, he would admit that he wasn't particularly looking forward to going down there. Not to punish someone for stealing shit they could have earned simply through service. Enforcing rules that seemed clear to him just pissed the shit outta him. It wasn't like he enjoyed being the judge, jury, and executioner.

He chose to take on those roles because he knew he could handle the emotional responsibilities that came with them. He wasn't a monster, though. He didn't enjoy putting an iron to people's faces. He didn't like having to introduce people to Lucille. Rules were rules. He had to uphold them when people either stupidly or willfully chose to break them.

"He's positive he's got this shit ass son of a bitch dead to rights?"

"Yeah, he's, uh, pretty positive he's got the thief who been taking all the stuff."

"Has he hung the fucking fuck up by his little pecker?"

"Uh..." Bewilderment coated Fat Joey's voice. "Well, he's, uh, well, he's in the cell."

Fin made a small sound, but he shut whatever bullshit she was about to say down with a shake of his head.

No matter how her ass felt about it, rules got broken, and he needed to dish out whatever punishment best fit the crime.

"Leave the thieving sack of shit in there until I'm ready to pass fucking judgment."

 _The prick can think 'bout what the fuck I am gonna do to him while sitting in the dark,_ he decided as he lazily stroked a hand over Fin's shapely hip _._ The anticipation of the unknown was all part of the experience.

Silence, as he had long since discovered, was a far more useful intimidation tactic than about a hundred other types of threats he could think of.

Fear either motivated someone to move their ass or it brought them to their knees.

 _And I wanna bring this sorry sack of shit to his knees before I burn his fucking face or crack his skull open_.

Curiosity though rippled and quieted some of the hunger for violence pulsing beneath his skin.  _Who the fuck would be dumb enough to think they could steal from me without getting caught_?

He had a few ideas, but nothing that concretely led him to figure out who the dumb dick was.  _And it doesn't look like that obese bastard is gonna tell me who the sorry shit is without me asking_. Negan grumbled softly as he glanced at the door.

"Well, who the fuck is the muther fucking fuck?"

"Uh," there was a deep sigh. "It's, uh, Jordan."

"That goddamn deaf kid?" Surprise tinged his voice. "He's the one who's been stealing all that shit?"

"Yeah, Boss."

Negan found himself too shocked for anger, and too busy trying to process to even formulate a response.  _A kid_ , he thought as disbelief crashed over him.  _A goddamn kid_. How the fucking fuck was he supposed to punish some kid?

Put an iron to his face? No fucking way. Chop a goddamn hand off? Fuck that. Beat his ass? Abso-fucking-lutely not. Fin's sigh cruised along his overheated flesh, stimulating nerves already fraying at the seams. She wanted to say something but for once in her life waited for him to grant her permission before starting to squawk.

 _Maybe this is one of those times where I should let her cute lil' ass have a say._..

"Uh, Boss?"

He stifled a few choice phrases along with the urge to introduce the fat bastard to the blunt end of Lucille.

"What the fuck is it?"

"Do you want me to, uh, bring the kid here so you can talk to him?" There was a pause. "He's, uh, pretty scared at the moment..."

Negan could only imagine how terrified the kid was at that moment. Locked in a goddamn dark room without any idea for why the fuck he was even getting punished. He ran a hand over his face as one thought ran through his mind over and over,  _Fuck fuckity fucker fucking fuck_...

"Boss?"

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "Yeah, bring the kid here. I'll handle whatever punishment he's gonna get."

"Okay..." was the obese bastard's reply. "I'll, uh, bring him myself. 'Cause, yanno, he likes and trusts me and stuff."

"Fine."

The door shut with hardly a sound, leaving him alone with Fin once more. Negan found the silence especially grating. Not that it lasted long.

"Negan..." Fin began but he shut down whatever she was about to say with one simple command.

"Don't."

Not that it worked.  _Not a fucking surprise..._

"He's nine," she persisted. "You can't pun..."

"Don't you fucking think I know that I can't punish him for this shit?" Temper sizzled in every word. "Jesus fucking Christ, I'm not a goddamn monster, Fin. You know my feelings about beating on kids. I mean, shit, I have a whole bunch of rules about what the fuck will happen to those caught abusing women or kids."

"I know you aren't a monster." She sifted those quick, clever fingers of hers through his hair, simultaneously soothing and stirring him. "And I know you have very strong feelings about things like rape and abuse. You don't allow either one."

"No, I sure as shit do not."

"And as much as you will likely deny it... I know you're struggling with this." She trailed her fingers to the back of his neck. Lightly rubbed in soft, slow circles. "I know this is bothering you, Negan."

Bothering him? No. It was more than just bothering him. This bullshit was twisting his innards into knots.

"I don't enjoy the fact that I am gonna have to punish a kid for breaking the rules."

"I know you don't."

Her voice was so quiet, so comforting. Her fingers slid over his skin in soft, steady strokes. The muscles in his neck and shoulders relaxed and the heat in his belly started to drift lower to another appendage that would love nothing better than to do some talking of its own. His lips crept upwards, and he allowed his hand to move from her hip to her thigh. Subtly suggestive, openly inviting.

"Why don't you try charming the snake outta his den, baby doll?"

"Because we don't have time for me to charm that snake out of his den," she retorted with a roll of her eyes. "We need to figure out how to handle this problem with Jordan."

He looked at her. Her face was eerily calm. Her ability to compose herself was one of the things he most respected her for. Fin's poker face was better than half the assholes in service to him.

He just was better at reading her tells than she thought he was.

Her eyes gave away her anxious state. As did the slight tremble in the fingers trailing from his neck to the back of his scalp.

"What the fuck do you suggest I do?"

She looked so pleased with his asking her opinion that he didn't have the heart to burst her little bubble by smirking.

"I suggest we find out why Jordan stole the medicine and food before deciding on doing anything," she said. "For all we know, this could be something as simple as he didn't understand that he needed to ask before taking the items."

"He knows he's working for points."

"Yes," she agreed. "He knows he's working for points. But he's still nine, and he is deaf. If someone didn't properly explain how the point systems work..." She sighed. "Well, then he doesn't deserve punishment. It's not really his fault."

It was good, sound logic. He could accept it, use it even as justification for not handing down as harsh a punishment as he might have to someone older.

There was just one minor problem.

Something that needed addressing to avoid this happening again.

"He has to learn the rules."

"Then we teach him the rules." She met his eyes. "By explaining them in ways  _he_  understands."

"He shouldn't be in service, Fin."

Guilt for that decision rest squarely on his shoulders. He was the one who ordered the boy put in service. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Would keep the boy outta trouble and teach him responsibility. Now, however?

Now, it seemed like one colossal mistake.

What choice had there been, though?

The kid's father, older brother, and uncle got killed in a raid by some fucking pricks calling themselves the  _Order_ , leaving his mother and baby sister needing someone to provide for them. Service was the only logical solution he could come up with since taking Tamika as a wife wasn't in the cards.

The last thing he needed or wanted was another wife dying from something he couldn't fix.

"No, he really shouldn't be in service. However, you're the first one to say that this world isn't fair."

"He's a goddamn kid, Fin."

"And kids his age have chores. That's how they learn responsibility. You weren't wrong when you said that."

"And look where the fuck we are now."

"Nobody says parenting is easy."

"We're not his parents."

He ignored the familiar hint of wistfulness that filled him when he thought about kids. Not having a child with Lucille was one of his biggest regrets. They had talked about having kids before getting married, decided they wanted to have a couple of each, even picked out names for 'em.

They tried for years to get pregnant but were never blessed with the sound of little feet. Lucille always blamed herself for their not having a child but given he had yet to produce a child with any of his wives, he wasn't so sure the problem had been on her end.

"No, we're not Jordan's parents," Fin admitted. "However, we are still responsible for his upbringing and safety. We're the ones who can give him the tools he needs to survive this world."

"Yeah, I know." He gently nudged her from his lap. "Go and get some clean clothes for me. I'm gonna shower and shave while we wait for Fat Joey to bring the kid here."

"Damndest thing," she joked as she made her way to the dresser. "Your razor has gone missing."

He sent an amused look at her.

"Meaning your cute lil' ass has hidden it again."

"Me?" She blinked them big green eyes at him. The air of innocence. Biggest load of bullshit this side of the country. "Why, I'd never do such a thing."

It was a game they had played the last few months. Normally, he'd give in simply because she seemed to like him when he was what she called  _scruffy_. However, he was starting to develop a man-bush.  _And that shit is just not cool_.

"Fin." He sat forward, watching as she retrieved his boots from where he set them the night before. "My razor."

She harrumphed as she sashayed back towards him.

"It's in the tampon box."

"You hid my goddamn razor in your tampons?"

"What?" Those delicately sloping shoulders lifted into a faint shrug. "I figured it was the last place you'd look."

Negan chuckled as he got to his feet.

"I'm going to look there first next time."

"I won't hide it there next time," she promised, lips twitching. "I'll find somewhere else that you won't think to look."

"I'm sure you fucking will."

"Go shower," she said. "Fat Joey will be here soon with Jordan."

Her words were spoken lightly, but them goddamn eyes of hers twinkled in a way that had his balls tingling.  _If only I had more than ten goddamn minutes_ , he thought as he reached up to take the clothes she held.  _I'd drag her cute lil' ass into the shower with me and worship every inch of that delectable body_.

For now, he settled for kissing her on the forehead before ambling into the bathroom.

He dumped his clothes in the clothes hamper Fin found on one of her many supply jaunts, turned the spray on hot, and let out a groan when he stepped in. The little room hadn't been a full bathroom when he took up occupancy. No more than his room was a bedroom. He had both converted after taking up residence. The bedroom turned out fine. The bathroom was another matter.

The shower had not been designed for a man of six-two. The nozzle was aimed at his throat, and if he wasn't careful he banged his elbows against the wall when he moved his arms. He had developed a routine, though. Bracing his hands on the wall beneath the nozzle, he bent over so the spray sluiced over his head and back. It wasn't ideal, but it sparred him unnecessary bumps and bruises.

As the hot water worked out the tension and kinks, he reached for one of the bottles of soap on the little plastic shelf. He made sure to double-check what bottle he grabbed before squirting a handful of soap into his hand.

Fin liked using fragrant and feminine smelling soaps and other shit. He learned that the hard way. He made sure now that the soap and shampoos he favored were also on the shelf. It was yet another reminder of how intertwined their lives were.

All around him were little things that reminded him of Fin. Her jewelry and makeup were laid out on the counter beside the combs and clips she used in her hair. Her scent clung to the burgundy colored towels hanging on the rack. Her toothbrush was beside his in the holder. Her clothes were folded next to his in the dresser.

He hadn't pointed out any of those things to her. They hadn't talked about a great many things, actually.

 _Maybe it is a kind of superstition_ , he thought,  _not to talk about what you're afraid of losing_.

He never once thought of it as cowardice. Not after what Fin revealed about her mother. Forcing her to face her demons when he wasn't ready to deal with his own didn't seem fair, but who the fuck said life was fair?  _Shit, she's carrying around too much guilt and responsibility for bullshit she couldn't have stopped even if she wanted_.

That was different from being a sorry shit of a husband who did the worst fucking thing a man could do to the woman he professed to love above all others. Fin was a baby and couldn't stop her father from abusing her mother. He left his Lucille on a hospital floor because he didn't have the balls to go back and lay her to rest properly.

Negan shut that shit down before the never gone guilt had a chance to reach up and grab him by the curli's. He finished showering, shaved and dressed. He ran a comb through his wet hair and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked much more respectable now that he shaved off his man-bush.

Not that Fin would be happy about it.

That was tough shit, though. He had an image to project and grizzled mountain man wasn't it. He turned and exited the bathroom, whistling a jaunty tune.

He froze at the sight that greeted him soon as he entered the bedroom. Fin sat in the chair he had been in earlier. In her lap was Jordan. His stick-thin arms were banded tightly around her neck, his head tucked under her chin, and his small body quaking with a combination of fear and anxiety against hers. She was rubbing his back and humming to try to calm him.

However, it was the troubled eyes that she lifted to his that grabbed him by the balls and twisted.

"What the fuck is it?"


	10. Dark Secrets

Fin's pretty mouth trembled and a swirl of things he couldn't define darkened her eyes. She wanted to answer his question but couldn't for some unknown reason. Dread curled in his belly as a plethora of possible explanations for why her cute lil' ass got struck mute crossed his mind. Not one of the thoughts that crossed his mind were ones he considered  _pleasant_.

"What the fuck is it?" He couched the words in gentle tones. "Holy hell, Fin, just tell me so we can figure out how the fuck to handle shit."

"Negan..." Of all the reactions he expected from her, the hitch of fear that thickened her voice wasn't among them. "I honestly don't know how to answer that question." She shook her head. "I just don't know where to start."

"Start by telling me what the fuck is going on."

"We have a problem on our hands."

"Yeah, and?"

"And if what I am gathering about it is true... it's a very big problem."

Negan swallowed the litany of curses that sprang to mind. Jordan might not hear the words he said, but he could still feel the vibrations and glean his emotions based on what he felt. The kid was already shaking like a fucking leaf. He didn't need him scaring his ass further by blowing his cool.

"Is the goddamn Sanctuary on fire or some shit?" His mouth was on rapid fire again, all bluster to cover the shit he was thinking and feeling, the anxiety at hearing there was some sorta bullshit going on inside his castle that he hadn't one goddamn clue about. "Or is it about to blow the fuck up because that obese bastard forgot he left a box of fucking dynamite next to the furnace again?"

"No." Fear made the single word thin and desperate. "We'd be better off if the factory was on fire. Hell, even the box of dynamite next to the furnace would be easier to deal with than this shit."

Fin swearing was a rarity. She usually joked that she didn't need to drop those words because he said enough for the two of them. Hearing one trip off her tongue now sent his earlier dread into hyperactive mode.

"What the fucking fuck is going on, Fin?" He demanded now. "Just fucking tell me.  _Now_."

Fin let out a long, weary breath. "Jordan's mother and sister are sick," she said finally. "That's why he's been taking the medicine and food."

"Sick?" He crossed the room to where she sat in two long strides. "How fucking sick?"

"I'd say they're beyond help sick."

Her meaning was clear. They weren't sick. They had turned.

"Fucking fuck," he breathed out as he perched on the edge of the small table set in front of the chair. "When?"

How was what he really wanted to ask. He knew it, and so did the woman looking at him with red-rimmed eyes.

"I'm guessing they got sick about a week to a week and a half ago."

"Which is about the time that I got told shit was coming up missing."

"Mhm."

"When the fuck they die?" He ran a hand over his face. "You get him to tell you?"

"I don't think Jordan even knows they're dead." She settled her hand against the back of the kid's head and rest her cheek against his crown. "He talks in ways that say to me that he thinks they're still alive."

 _Shit_ , he thought as he looked at the boy, quiet as he lay against Fin.  _He's fucking nine. Nine. He shouldn't be having to deal with this shit. No kid should have to deal with this kinda shit_. Sure, he was the first to say that life wasn't fair. The truth was that this world sucked bigger balls than his. It made men out of little boys.  _Before they should even be fucking made into men_.

"I'm going to assume they died sometime in the middle of the night," Fin continued by saying. Her sigh echoed the tension twisting his nerves into knots. "Likely while he was busy helping with cleaning up the kitchen and getting things ready for today."

"Meaning they could have fucking turned at any point in the last four hours."

"Yes."

Silence fell as they both absorbed the full weight of the situation.  _Fucking fuckity fuck_ , ran through his head over and over. It just didn't seem possible that this shit happened right under his fucking nose. Not without him or someone in the goddamn place becoming aware of it. It was a question he put to Fin, suspecting she'd have some sort of answer that would make sense of this mess.

"How the fuck did we not know about this shit?"

Only silently did he add,  _How the fuck could this have gone unnoticed when there are so many fucking fucks living here_? Didn't people pay attention to each other? Check in when they hadn't seen someone in a few days? Make mention of shit that seemed off to each other?

Didn't they think to keep eye on a goddamn kid?

He lifted a hand towards Jordan but hesitated.

Part of him wanted to set his hand on that small back to reassure the kid, to let him know shit would be okay, and that he had a home here with them for as long as he wanted it.

The other part reminded him of how he left his wife to rot on a hospital floor.

The woman he swore to love, honor and protect. A pile of bones. He dropped his hand back to his side with a small sigh.

"Nobody thought there was anything wrong because he kept them so well hidden."

"That should have been their first fucking clue."

"The majority of the people do not even know who Tamika or Yasmine are."

"That shit is gonna change," he swore in one long breath. "People are gonna start learning each other's names and keeping a better eye on each other."

Fin ran her hand over the back of the boy's head, down along his back. Negan tried to ignore the wistfulness that filled him at seeing her with Jordan.  _She'd make a damn good mother_ , he thought as Jordan stirred. She was a natural with the kid, anticipating exactly the sort of comfort the boy needed and giving it to him.

For a moment, just one, Negan allowed himself to indulge in the idea of them living an apple pie sorta life here in the Sanctuary. The baby, his little angel, would be asleep in the crook of his arm while a couple of green-eyed boys chased each other around the room. He and Fin would watch them while going over whatever fucking business needed their attention. He'd make spaghetti for dinner and...

"We need to figure out what to tell the people," Fin intruded his fantasy by saying. "It will have to be something that will keep them calm while we handle things."

Negan acknowledged her statement with a nod. They hadn't known either Tami or her daughter was sick. That was the goddamn truth. If he had known he'd have done...  _something_. He wouldn't have let shit get to this point.  _And I sure as shit wouldn't have left it up to a kid to handle on his own_.

"How the hell did he manage to hide they were sick?" He shook his head. "That's what I don't fucking get. How the fuck did he keep this shit quiet for so goddamn long?"

"Well," she said slowly, a frown creasing her brow. "He moved them into one of the empty storage rooms when they got sick because it was what he thought Doc Carson would do."

Jordan turned his head towards him as she spoke. His eyes, Negan saw, were a lighter shade of green than Fin's.

 _Fuck me blind_ , Negan thought as he stared at the boy.  _Did you have to have eyes like her cute lil' ass_?

That ache again filled him as he pictured a little girl with big green eyes and bouncing curls curled up in his lap while her pretty mama read to them in that smokey, silky voice. He wanted that picture to become reality. He wanted it bad enough he was willing to do just about anything to see it come to pass.

Even get rid of his other wives if that was what her stubborn ass wanted.

"Storage rooms?" One dark brow winged up. "He's got his mother and sister in the area we use for the dumb fucks who break the rules or fuck with me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He isolated them because he didn't want anyone else getting sick," she explained as Jordan glanced up at her face, his brow wrinkled. "He was taking them food and medicine when he was not doing his chores."

"Why?"

"Well, because he thinks they're just sick," she said as Jordan again turned his head towards him. Negan saw his face was more curious than fearful. He offered the kid what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He figured he succeeded when Jordan gave him a shy one in return. "He's been taking them food and medicine because he saw Carson doing that for someone else and it made them better. So, he figured it would make them better, too."

"Jesus H. Christ," he rumbled. "Nobody saw or thought something was fucking wrong here? They didn't think to go and check on either Tami or Yasmine?"

"No." She shook her head, sighed. "People just didn't realize Tamika and Yasmine were that sick." She glanced at Jordan. "Neither did he."

Negan ran a hand over his face as he worked to process everything Fin told him. He found he just couldn't accept this pile of shit as it was. It just didn't seem possible that nobody in this goddamn place thought to go and see what the fuck was going on with Tamika. Hadn't he preached observance from day damn one?

Didn't he tell their asses how they needed to keep an eye on shit because nobody was safe in this fucked up world they lived?  _Gonna make some new rules after this_ , he decided.  _Make it clear that if they fail to pay attention if they try to ignore what the fuck they see or hear or if they don't bring shit to someone's attention that it will be the iron._

"Is he...?" He paused to let the disquiet and dismay fighting for dominance inside him settle down. "Is he sick?"

"No, he seems perfectly healthy. It's amazing he's not sick given how ill he said his mother and sister were."

Fin ran her fingers over the back of the kid's head, drawing his gaze, and causing that want to intensify in his belly.  _Shit, she can gimme a whole buncha little girls and I'd be happy_. He pushed aside his thoughts. There'd be time later to discuss babies and shit.

"Thank fucking God for small favors."

The boy slowly slid off Fin's lap to walk around his inner sanctum. Negan watched him, his innards twisted in a knot of wants and needs, and his temper steadily fraying because of the pain in the ass woman who wanted more of him than he thought was sane or possible.

"I told Fat Joey to organize the men because I knew that would be your orders," Fin said as Jordan wandered over to look at the books lined neatly on the shelf. "They should be gathered below and waiting for your orders."

Negan acknowledged her words with a slight nod. Knowing she took charge while he was in the shower brought him some measure of calm. Why shouldn't it? Fin was more than capable of running shit. She understood — even if she didn't particularly agree with — how he liked things done.

She had proven herself as more than capable of keeping operations running smoothly if he was either detained or absent. The truth was that he trusted her more than a few of the dumb fucks he had in service to him. Some men would feel threatened by her taking control of the situation. Not him. If anything, it just proved even more how she was the queen of his castle.

"I'll go help them take care of the situation," he heard her say. "Make sure they handle putting Ta..."

"You're going to take Jordan and go wherever the fuck it is that you go when your cute lil' ass ain't here with me." He made a mental note to quiz her about where the fuck that was once shit went back to normal. For now, he stood and held a hand out to Fin who gaped at him. "Now, come on. I want you and the kid to get the fuck away from here before I go and handle shit."

She looked at his hand and then up at him, them gorgeous eyes of hers puzzled.

"You want me to take Jordan and leave?"

"I sure as shit do."

Seeing her in speechless shock was, almost, as satisfying as seeing her face... No, it wasn't even half as satisfying as seeing her face flushed with pleasure would be, he admitted.

"No..." she predictably protested. "No, I should—"

He helped her to her feet, turned her, and nudged her over to where Jordan stood with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Get your goddamn keys, grab a fucking walkie, and go the fuck to where you stay when you're not with me. And," he added even as she harrumphed, "stay the fuck there until I tell you to bring your cute lil' ass back. Understand?"

…

Raya couldn't believe what she was hearing. Negan wanted her to leave. He wanted her to go back to where she stayed when she wasn't at the Sanctuary with him. As if that wasn't enough to stun her, he also wanted her to take Jordan with her. The question she found herself asking was,  _why_?

Why did he want her to go?

Why did he want her to take Jordan with her?

Why wasn't he commanding that they both stay and observe how he handled the situation? Before she could pose those questions to him, he repeated his earlier statement. More forcibly this time.

"Fin, I told you to get your goddamn car keys, grab one of the fucking walkies, and get yours and the kid's asses to wherever the fuck you stay when you're not here with me."

She sent him a reproving look for his high-handed treatment from over her left shoulder. Not that it caused him to soften his tone or apologize.  _Typical_ , she groused as she folded her arms across her chest as she faced him.

Outwardly, she appeared the queen ready to do battle.

Inwardly, she was like a volcano about to erupt.

Things were bad at that moment.  _Very bad_ , she thought as she cut a quick look at Jordan.

"Negan—"

"This shit isn't up for discussion, Fin."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No, I won't go. You need—"

"Wrong, darlin'." He indicated the door with a nod. "I don't need your cute lil' ass here to handle this bullshit. I need it wherever it is you go."

"Why?" She managed around the snap of annoyance and bubbles of fear percolating in her belly. "Answer me that. Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why are you sending me away? And why you do want me to take Jordan?" She angled her head, studying him. "That's the part that makes absolutely no sense to me."

"I have my fucking reasons for sending you both away from this shit."

She could tell from his eyes, his expression, how serious he was about her taking Jordan and leaving. Still, she persisted.

"Just explain to me why you're sending Jordan away." He shot her a narrow-eyed glance. She ignored it. "I'd think you'd want him here so you can teach him what he needs to know about the cruelties of this world."

A shadow passed over his face. It was there and gone so quickly that Raya almost believed she imagined it. She hadn't, however. He wasn't looking forward to what was coming any more than she was.

"What's about to happen is gonna be hard to watch."

"Yes," she said, nodding. "I know it will be."

 _I don't like that you will see it_ , she added silently.  _Your head is messed up enough. The last thing you need is to have this worming through your brain_. She couldn't ask that he stand down, though. He wouldn't. And he couldn't, she acknowledged silently with an internal grimace.

He was the leader of the Saviors. His presence was needed to keep order and calm.  _People need a dramatic example to rid them of their apathy_. Wasn't that why Bruce, and to a lesser extent, herself and the other members of the Batfamily all donned masks and capes?

"He's fucking nine, Fin," she heard him say. "He doesn't need to see this shit. And," he dropped his voice an octave. "Neither do you."

The truth of why he was sending her away washed over her, into her, obliterating her fear and annoyance in one massive wave.  _He's shielding me from what he knows is waiting inside that storage room_. The truth of it was in his eyes.

He was taking the responsibility of putting Tamika and Yasmine down on himself so that she wouldn't have to do it.  _So I won't have to carry the burden of it_ , she realized as emotion, pure sentiment, swamped her.

'See, Doc?' Harley whispered inside her head. 'The big lug cares enough about you that he's willing to do this for you.'

 _He doesn't have to do this himself_ , she told Harley.  _He could let me or someone_...

'You said you wanted a man who wasn't afraid of letting you be you but who would also step up when it was necessary.'

 _Well, yes, I did say that_ , Raya admitted as she slowly lifted a trembling hand to his face.  _But I didn't mean about situations like this. This is asking too much. This is going to tear him apart emotionally. It already is despite his attempts to hide it._

'You gotta let him be the man now, Doc. You gotta let him do this. You gotta let him carry this burden for you."

Not that she would let him carry that burden alone. No, she would carry it with him, like a good queen — she refused to call herself  _wife_  — should.

There was no more denying the truth, however.

No more hiding from herself or her feelings.

Everything she wanted in a man was right here in front of her.

 _I never needed a hero because Bruce taught me to save myself_ , she said to the petite blonde inside her head.  _I don't need a man to complete me because Diana showed me I am whole alone. All I've ever wanted was a man to share my burdens with. Someone who will sing to me when I'm sad. Kiss me when I least expect it. Flirt with me until I'm so flustered I forget my problems. And above all else... someone to make me laugh. That's it. That's him._

'Bout time you admitted it.'

She ignored that. Accepting the truth was enough in her books.

"Okay..." She took two careful breaths. "I'll take Jordan and go to the Hilltop Colony. I have family there."

"You live at the fucking Hilltop Colony with that Gregory prick?"

"I stay there when I'm not here with you, yes."

It was true as far as truths went. She  _did_  stay at Hilltop when she wasn't here at the Sanctuary. She just didn't stay there  _all the time_. He just didn't need to know that. Not at that moment, anyway.

Later, she decided.

Later, she would have a long talk with him. Tell him the truth about who she was and why she was there.  _I owe him that. I owe him the truth before things go any further between us than they have_.

She just hoped to hell that he would react as she hoped. Some anger was expected. She played a game with him. She could only pray he would understand why she had done those things.  _He'll understand. Once I explain it was for my children, he will understand._

"Then go the fuck there and stay there until I call your cute lil' ass back."

"I'll go because you so sweetly asked it of me," she said as she slid her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck. "But before I go..."

Negan towered over her so she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach his mouth. For a moment, they stood, lips a breath apart while her system shivered with anticipation. Mouths brushed, retreated, brushed again. It was she who crushed her lips to his on a burst of hunger. She hadn't let herself want. Even when he stirred long-buried needs to life, she refused to let herself want.

 _Until now_.

She wanted the strength of him, the press of that hard, lean body. She wanted the snap of heat and the edgy thrill that came with feeling his heart pound against her own. She wanted his hands on her and shivered when his arm snaked around her, pulling her close.

She lost all track of time and place as for once she pushed aside the other sides of her — Fenix, Doc, Siren — and just let herself take.


	11. Necessary Actions

Holy hell, the goddamn woman was gonna be the absolute death of him. What the fucking undead roaming the world outside, a buncha asshole shitheads over at Oceanside, and this world, in general, couldn't do, this woman was. It wasn't like she did shit intentionally, either.

No, Fin just tended to set off aches inside him that throbbed longer and harder than a bad tooth. No woman since his Lucille had managed to stir him up like this one did. She didn't even have to try to turn him on. One itty bitty smile from her cute lil' ass was enough to have him hard as a rock.

The curling of one of her small hands behind his neck and sliding that body he itched to explore up against his before pressing those lips to his was almost enough to have his head explode.

Both of 'em.

He was the one who usually did the kissing. With his other wives, it was his choice to kiss them. With Fin, it was because she abso-fucking-lutely refused to kiss him.  _Well_ , he amended as he slid one arm around her waist and changed the angle of the kiss. She told him she wouldn't kiss him until he got rid of his other wives.  _Until today_.

Somewhere between the time he woke up to right before she knocked him on his ass she had undergone a reversal on her stance about not kissing him until he met her conditions. He was wise enough to realize it wasn't because Fin had finally accepted he wasn't gonna get rid of Frankie, Tanya, Amber or any of the other wives who served him.

That would be too goddamn easy for her to do. And Fin wasn't one thing:  _easy_. No, she was just as opinionated as she was hard-headed.

Hell, he respected that about her.

Fin was easily the most complex woman he had ever met. She waded into a shitty situation, bold as brass, confident as a goddamn Amazon, and fearlessly fierce as any lioness defending her pride.

Yet, there were these sorta moments, the more intimate ones, where she was awkward and shy, hesitant to embrace or indulge her more carnal nature, and almost afraid that if she let herself be more uninhibited that it would somehow be used against her. After the shit she told him went on between her mother and father he could understand why she struggled with intimacy.

He figured out a long ass time ago that Fin came with baggage. A whole lotta fucking baggage. She was just as damaged as him when he broke shit down to its core. Her family fucked her up in ways he didn't think she even realized.

Or really dealt with.

Getting her to face the bullshit in her closet when he hadn't confronted his own wasn't fair. He knew it wasn't. However, she needed to tackle that shit and lay it the fuck to rest. Why? The truth — that he only admitted to himself — was that he didn't want her to become as twisted as he was. He didn't want to see her name a baseball bat after her mother and go around cracking skulls with it.

Fin was the better of them and he wanted her to stay that way.

She wouldn't go and screw a whole buncha men just because life was better for it. The thought of how she could if she so chose rolled through his mind and got rejected. Fin wasn't like him. She didn't have the same view he did about sex. He still didn't see any reason or need to live by the same old rules. His opinion hadn't changed about that. Why deny himself a slice of pie today when he could die tomorrow?

He liked women. Hell, he admitted they — along with violence — were his drugs of choice. He made time in his day to screw at least one of his wives. Two or three if he was feeling especially hungry. He also hadn't made it any secret about how much he would love Fin becoming one of those wives he spent a leisurely afternoon balls deep in. Pleasuring her cute lil' ass was one goal he had for however long he had left on this truly fucked up planet.

However, he couldn't deny that the second her lips met his that things inside him shifted. All the bullshit rolling around inside his head quieted. The guilt dogging him since Lucille came back as one of them undead fucks settled into a dull ache, and the grief became less vicious.

He felt  _alive_.

Cold where her breath whisked over his too tight skin. Hot in the belly where shit like want and need tended to begin. For a moment, just one, he actually felt like he could be the kind of man Fin deserved. Honest, decent, committed to her and only her. The kind of man he had been when he married Lucille.

The man he had been until something broke inside him and convinced him it was okay to lie and screw around on his wife.

This woman tugged at him in ways he had not thought possible. He had thought himself dead after Lucille died. Did he love Fin? He didn't think so. Did he feel something for her that went beyond his deep and abiding wish to lose himself inside her for a few pleasurable hours?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

He missed her when she was gone. He missed their teasing banter, their heated debates, their quiet conversations about this fucked up mess they were living in.

Having her here with him the last few days, having her sleeping beside him, having her turn to him when the demons hounding her became too much for her to bear settled him in ways he hadn't been since this shit mess started.

Knowing a woman as strong as this one needed him, that she relied on him when she felt scared or alone, and that she cared enough about him to assert her role as his queen and protector did something to his heart.

It caused it to beat.

And that scared him shitless.

Quiet sounds of need hummed in Fin's throat and pulsed in his blood. Her skin felt like hot satin beneath his hands and shot a plethora of tantalizingly erotic images through his brain. The kind that had his mouth-watering, his fingers itching, and his balls tingling.

If not for the kid in the room, he'd back Fin up against the wall and indulge in some long overdue hanky-panky.

"Fin." Drowning in her scent, her taste, and churning near desperate with want, he broke the kiss. "Goddamn it, Fin." He lowered his forehead to hers. And struggled to keep control of his body's demands. "If the kid wasn't here and there wasn't a shit show waiting for me below, I'd push you up against that goddamn wall and..."

A knock on the door and Fat Joey calling, "Boss?" interrupted the rest of he was gonna say.

Not that Fin didn't have a good damn idea of what they'd be doing if the kid and that obese bastard hadn't interrupted. He grumbled a few inarticulate things under his breath and swore to make life miserable for that rotund sonuvabitch.

Fin just smiled at him, those huge eyes dark and promising a plethora of sensual delights. She gave him another quick kiss before stepping back.

"Don't forget Lucille."

Not that he needed the reminder. He never forgot his Lucille. She was the first thought on his mind when he woke up, and the last thing before he fell asleep. He retrieved the bat from where she rest by the chair, shot a wink and a playful grin at the silent Jordan before looking at Fin.

"Remember what I said," he told her as he strode for the door. "And keep that fucking walkie handy."

 _Because soon as this shit is done_ , he told her silently,  _you are bringing your cute lil' ass back here and finishing what the fuck you started_.

And damn if those big green eyes weren't just promising that he would get to cart her off to some nice, quiet little corner and screw her until his dick broke off inside her. Not that the goddamn woman would admit that was exactly what she wanted him to do. Hell no. Be too easy. And Fin and easy went together about as well as smart and Fat Joey.

"Please," she said in a soft, tremulous voice. "Be careful. Come back to us unharmed."

Her sweet concern, her worry for his safety, and her entreaty for him to come back unharmed was almost his undoing. Emotion, pure sentiment, threatened to swamp him. Pride kept his voice steady.

"I'll be fine." He leaned down, touched his lips to her forehead. "Just get yours and the kid's asses to the Hilltop."

"I will."

"And don't fucking stop to smell the daisies." He stared into her eyes. "Straight there, Fin. Understand?"

"Yes." Her hand came up to rest against his cheek. "Do you understand when I say come back to me it means unharmed?"

The macho side of him wanted to roll his eyes. The other side of him, the one talking way too much shit for his liking, softened.

As it often did when it came to this woman.

"Yeah, I fucking get it."

Only silently did he add, _It doesn't matter what the fuck happens to me_ ,  _baby doll_.  _Long as you don't gotta see or do this shit is all that matters_. That part he didn't tell her. The less Fin knew about his changing feelings for her, the more comfortable and in control he felt.

"I mean it, Negan." Her fingers trembled against his cheek. "Delegate if you have too. But  _you_  be safe."

"You're worryin' yourself into a state for no goddamn reason, darlin'."

"Promise me." The urgency in her voice told him louder than words how agitated she was. "Promise me that you will come back to me."

"Stop." He pressed another kiss to her forehead before looking at the boy who crept over during their exchange. His heart hitched at what he was about to do to the kid. Part of him wanted to reach out and reassure Jordan but he knew now wasn't the time. Comfort would have to come later. "You keep him fucking safe, Fin."

Not that he needed to even ask her that. When it came to protecting kids, Fin was like a mama bear.

"I will."

He exited the room before doing or saying anything else that would give away just how much her words had affected him. He shot a dirty look at Fat Joey, who cringed away from him, and headed downstairs.

"Have the empty storage rooms by the cell checked," he told Simon, who magically materialized at his side. Where he had been or why he was even there at the Sanctuary didn't matter at that moment. "And be fucking careful when opening the doors."

"Why?" Simon questioned as he fell into step with him. "What are we looking for? And what the fuck is going on with that little deaf runt? I heard he was stealing shit and giving it out to assholes who refuse to work for points. I'd give the iron to all of 'em. Teach 'em a real fucking lesson about not following the rules."

Anger simmered below the balls of unease in his belly.  _Who the fuck did Simon think he was talking to here_? Not for the first time, and Negan assumed it wouldn't be the last, he wondered how loyal Simon actually was to him. There was a devious, underhanded quality to the man that made him perfect as his right hand. However, it also made him a potential threat to his leadership.

Fin had warned him not long after they met to watch out for Simon, said he was merely biding his time before he'd try to off his ass and take over as leader.  _As if that shit will ever fucking happen_ , he thought as he scowled at the man.  _I will shut that shit down before he even gets a hold of whatever balls he has dangling between his legs_.

"I wouldn't fucking piss me off right now," he warned as he turned a corner. "I'm seriously not in the mood for any more goddamn bullshit today."

"That deaf brat gotta be punished," Simon insisted. "He can't get away with breaking the rules. It will just convince some of these other assholes to ignore shit and do whatever the fuck they want."

Negan's fingers tightened on Lucille's smooth handle. Holy hell, but he wanted nothing more than to swing her at the sonuvabitches head for suggesting he burn the face of a kid. Abso-fucking-lutely no way was that shit gonna happen. Simon could go fuck himself before he'd ever agree to put an iron to Jordan's face.

Silently, he acknowledged the real reason why he felt so protective of Jordan. He and Lucille tried to adopt a deaf boy about his age but were turned down because the agency didn't feel a home with two hearing parents was the best for the boy.

Even the fact that he knew basic American Sign Language and was willing to go back for more classes hadn't made a damn bit of difference. It was as if the world took away one opportunity because it knew that there was another kid waiting who would need him more.

"I've already decided that Jordan won't be punished," he informed Simon coldly. "I heard what his reasons for taking the shit was and it satisfies me that he wasn't doing it for gain."

"Am I allowed to ask what his reason for stealing shit was?"

"Tamika and her little girl got fucking sick," Negan told him. "He was taking shit to her and Yasmine."

 _Little Yasmine_ , he thought now as he turned into the area where the empty storage rooms were.  _With the light green eyes that always fucking sparkled, and them tight, springy curls framing a dark halo around her angelic face_. His belly clenched as what he'd have to do loomed closer and closer.

He would bear this burden, though.

He could handle it.

He was strong enough to carry the weight of responsibility for him and Fin both.  _She doesn't need to see this shit_ , he decided as he released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Far as he was concerned, Fin's days of wading into situations like this were over.

He was there to handle shit now.

"Shit," Simon breathed out. "You thinking they're turned?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, I think they've turned."

"Know about when?"

"Last hour or two."

He saw Simon turn to say something to one of his nitwits from the corner of his eye. Murmurs and other yammering cropped up as shit rolled down the line, but he paid none of it any attention. His gaze remained firmly fixed upon the door at the end of the hall.

Even from here, he could hear their inarticulate groans, the snapping of jaws and ligaments, the clawing of nails against the backs of the doors, and the spasmodic gait as the fucks moved around in the tiny rooms they died in.

It was worse, much fucking worse than what he imagined. It wasn't just Tamika and Yasmine who got sick and turned. It was at least a handful of others who also got infected.

 _And the kid moved them all here when he saw they were fucking sick_ , he thought as the truth settled over him like a blanket. He thought he was isolating them until they could get better.  _Like Doc fucking Carson did when the last virus went through the Sanctuary_.

"Holy fucking shit." The horror and disgust in their voice echoed what was inside his own heart. "We got us a goddamn epidemic on our hands."

"How'n hell didn't anybody know this shit was going on?" Came from someone else. "Ain't nobody been paying attention to things?"

It was the one question that Negan himself wanted to have answered. He waited as patiently as he could for someone to reply. However, Simon interceded before an answer got offered.

"Fan out," he ordered. "Check all the fucking rooms."

"And put the fucks down," Negan added. "Mercifully."

He then made his way down the hall after issuing that command. It was cold. It was cruel. This world was both. The weak didn't last long. Not without men like him to keep them from dying. Most people thought he was a heartless bastard. He could be. He admitted it. He cared about his people, though. He did. Everything got done with the sole purpose of seeing them all survive.

The talk dwindled down, replaced by an eerie sort of calm. Within the span of ten seconds, the noise of surprise, of shock and dismay transitioned into one of business. Revulsion and rage got replaced with calm. His men had done this shit before. There was no learning curve at work here.

It was the law of the land.

None of them enjoyed what was about to happen. Not a goddamn one of them was looking forward to having to shoot or stab one of their own. It was necessary for the survival of the rest of their people. All of them accepted that. All of them knew that this was what they needed to do to survive.

Some of the men spread out as they moved down the hall, calmly reaching for hatchets and hunting knives while others pumped shells into shotgun breeches or raised the muzzles of pistols or revolvers.

They paired off in teams of three or four and readied themselves for whatever might come out of those doors once they opened. Negan paused in front of the door at the end of the hall. The big gray door. The one that hid the greatest tragedy of all.

"Be fucking ready," he said over his shoulder. "Be fucking vigilante."

Low murmurs indicated their acknowledgment of his words. He reached for the doorknob at the same time as the others behind him, heard the click as the tumbler slid free. He nudged the door open with fingers that tingled with nerves and anxiety, not wanting to see either Tamika or Yasmine shuffling towards him.

The figure tottering around inside the storage room was small, her once mocha colored skin now a sickly shade of yellow, her springy curls dull and lifeless. She turned to him and he saw the front of her pajamas soaked in blood. Her lips were smeared with it. And her big eyes, once the same shade of green as Jordan's, were now fixed and glazed.

It was Yasmine.

 _Fucking fuckity fuck_ , Negan thought as Lucille dropped down to hang at his side. Part of him had hoped he would find them before they came back.  _No such fucking luck_.

Sick to the core of his being, and hating this world even more than he already did, he passed Lucille to Fat Joey and took hold of the knife the rotund bastard held out to him.

"Sorry, angel," he murmured as he stepped forward.


	12. Overdue Explanations

"Where were you?" Were the first words out of Paul Rovia's mouth the second he opened the Hilltop's gates. "I waited for you at the church for over an hour..."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I couldn't get away to meet as planned."

"I was worried something happened to you."

"You need to stop thinking that something happened to me." Raya smiled to soften the brusqueness of her tone. "I'm sorry, I tried to get away. Something happened at the Sanctuary that detained me."

She didn't add that the first thing to happen that prevented her from arriving at their planned meeting was two of Negan's mattress playmates wanting to hire her to get rid of their unwanted husband and his righthand baboon.

Or the next being her big mouth getting her into trouble and leading to Negan gently prompting her to explore things about herself she hadn't dared to look at in such depth before.

As much as she trusted Paul, loved and adored him as both her confidante and brother, she didn't have the mental fortitude or desire to get into a lengthy discussion about her relationship with Negan.

 _Or hear about how I need to get away from him because of how horrible a man he is_ , she added silently.  _I know Negan isn't a saint. I don't want a saint. I want a man who can handle who and what I am without feeling like it jeopardizes his manhood._

Only silently did she admit she wanted a man like Bruce Wayne. Not that her reason was because of a latent Electra complex rearing its head. She did not have any sort of sexual attachment to Bruce. It was because Bruce not only accepted that Diana Prince was stronger physically than him and far more skilled as a warrior, but he relied on her strength and skill without question or qualm.

It was a commonly accepted fact among the Justice League, Titans, and Young Justice that if someone wanted to defeat Gods that they called Superman.

Solve difficult crimes or figure out cures to complicate toxins, call Batman.

If one wanted to end wars, however? They called Wonder Woman.

 _Negan does that with me_ , she realized as Jordan tucked tighter against her side.  _He lets me handle disputes that need a more feminine approach to them. He only steps in when the situation requires more lethal handling or when it calls for him to make an example out of someone so that the rest won't attempt the same thing in the future._

The fact that he was comfortable enough to allow her to handle disputes, even to negotiate peaceful resolutions showed a surprisingly pro-feminine side. It was far different from the image he projected when in public.

Not for the first time, and Raya suspected it wouldn't be the last, she found herself wondering how much of Negan was a caricature of himself that he crafted specifically for this world.

 _Does he wear a public mask much like I do? Does he save his real self for when he is alone or with someone he absolutely trusts? Am I allowed to see the real him? Or is what he shows me yet another mask?_  That was what she needed to find out.

"A situation?" One tawny brow feathered up. "What kind of situation?" A smile briefly appeared from within the thick bristles surrounding his mouth. "And does it involve Negan trying to get you into bed with him?"

Raya harrumphed at his wry tone.

"No, it doesn't involve Negan trying to get me into bed with him."

She told herself it wasn't a complete fabrication. Negan  _hadn't_  been trying to get her into bed while she perched in his lap and talking about the toxicity that was her mother and father's marriage.

Paul didn't need to know about that particular detail, though. Same as he didn't need to know they exchanged one helluva kiss right before Negan went off to handle the situation with Tamika and her daughter.

Revealing either would lead to that discussion she was trying her best to avoid.  _Not that I can avoid it forever,_  she admitted as Jordan reached up to take hold of her hand. She sent a reassuring smile to him and indicated that everything would be fine with an okay sign. He responded with a smile so full of trust and confidence it eased some of the tension in her belly.

"There's a surprise."

"Paul." She sent him a reproving look. "Please, let the subject of Negan be."

"I can't let the subject be." The look he sent her was imploring. "Please, understand that I can't stay quiet about my feelings."

"Well, try."

"I have tried, Rae." Paul shook his head, sighing as he did so. "I just can't. I'm worried about you."

"Don't be. I'm fine."

"I don't think you are."

"Do I look like I have been harmed in any way?"

"No, you do not." He folded his arms across his chest and regarded her with eyes that she felt saw and knew too much. "But I still don't trust him and I don't like that you are alone with him so much. He's a master manipulator. One who has already gotten you to publicly admit you're his queen."

She should have known he would have heard about that particular faux pas.  _Which one of my minions reported that to him_? she found herself wondering. Of all the Sirens she had slipped in among the Saviors, only one came to mind as the likely stool pigeon:  _Roy Harper_.

"I'm not alone with him all the time," she grumbled. "Roy Harper is there with me as are a number of other Sirens. I meet with them quite often and handle business that is outside the purview of Negan's watchful eyes."

"You're sleeping in his room and I assume in his bed," Paul said quietly. "Aren't you?"

 _Dammit, Harper. Did you have to report that particular detail to him_? And if Paul knew she was sharing Negan's bed then it was a good bet that her brother and children had heard about it, too.

 _Just perfect_ , she groused.  _All I need is to have them all gang up on me and tell me I'm an idiot for falling in love with a man who has as much psychological damage to him as Bruce_.

"Aren't you?"

Raya made a mental note to wallop the arrow-wielding hero when she returned to the Sanctuary.

"So, what if I am?" She finally said with a veiled note of warning in her tone. "It's my choice if I am. He's not forcing me."

"Rae..."

"He's never hurt me, Paul."

"He could, though." His tone was gentle but there was a thin undercurrent of steel beneath it that said he wouldn't easily bend on this. Not that she expected him, too. "That's my point."

"So could you."

"Is that what you think?"

He asked the question lightly, a shade coolly even. As if the answer was of no great importance. However, Raya could see how much her words had hurt him. She kicked herself for having taken her moodiness out on Paul. He didn't deserve it. She tried to make amends for her harsh words by reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear."

"Humans have the greatest capacity to hurt, Paul. Even when they don't intend to do so." She cupped his cheek in her palm. "And families are where much of our hurts begin."

"Until you, I didn't have a family to call my own."

Her heart softened at the bitter sadness she saw in his eyes, on his face. Paul's was a story that fit with the rest of her family. Orphaned at a young age and dumped into the foster care system, he grew up being shuffled from home to home, never establishing any sort of roots or solid relationships, picked on for his size and for being  _different_.

Even now, he struggled with making connections with people. It had become somewhat of a joke between them about how she had to break up with his boyfriends for him.  _Much like I have to break up with Tim's girlfriends for him_.

"That's because you were waiting to become part of our family."

Paul's expression relaxed into a kind of intense concentration, almost like a sense of doubt.

"Have I become part of your family?"

She stroked her thumb beneath his eye.

"You became part of our family the night the Joker tried to use you to break Batman."

"I wasn't a Robin, though."

"You were that night." Her lips curved, warm with affection. "And you still are a Robin in my opinion. Much like Batman can be anyone, so can Robin. And I will always come for you because it is Fenix's job to bring Robin home."

"I think the current Robin will have something to say about that."

"The current Robin has much to learn about family still."

"He doesn't see me as you do."

"He will," she assured him. "And once he does he will do everything in his power to make sure that nothing and nobody will take you from us."

"You can't make a promise like that."

"Watch me, Paul-Obi."

Paul just shook his head, chuckling softly.

"My friends  _used_  to call me Jesus until  _you_  started calling me Paul-Obi."

"You're far more like a Jedi than you are our Lord and Savior," she lightly teased. "Especially when you turn into Darth Rovia."

"If you didn't persist in getting into situations that cause me to lose my zen..."

"You need to talk more with my brothers and children," she advised as Jordan stirred beside her. "They'll happily explain to you that getting into situations is my specialty."

Paul ignored that, his gaze shifting to Jordan, who stared up at him with a mixture of curiosity and awe upon his face. Paul then shifted his gaze back to her. Raya saw a multitude of questions burning in the depths of his sea-blue eyes.

"This is Jordan," she explained as she set a hand lightly on the boy's back and nudged him inside. "He's part of the situation that detained me this morning."

Paul glanced at the boy again, his expression pensive.

"What is this situation you keep mentioning?" He asked as Jordan shyly smiled and waved hello. "And how is he involved?"

"Jordan's mother and sister," she paused, grimaced, "and possibly others all are sick at the Sanctuary."

His head snapped up. Fear and anxiety deepened the blue of his eyes and wiped some of the color from his face. How sad was it that a simple word could cause such panic?

"Sick?" The world was thin and reedy. "What type of sick?"

"Infected kind."

He flinched at those words, knowing they meant one thing and only one thing in this world.

"They've turned."

"Yes."

It was a story told hundreds of times before. In this world, getting sick, bitten or having an injury that couldn't be immediately taken care of by someone with the right medical knowledge led to a fever and an eternity of walking around as a rotting nomad. Even now she could hear the inarticulate groaning of the damned.

They were roaming the forest just behind her and to the left of the Hilltop. More were stumbling along the roads that led to the Hilltop and other survivor communities.  _I need to tell Tim to organize some teams and have them do another sweep. We can't have the infected gathering numbers again. It was almost too much for us to handle last time._

"Negan sent you here with the boy while he handles the infected Saviors back at the Sanctuary?"

"Yes, he did," she confirmed as she helped close and lock the gates. "He made it clear I was to come straight here, in fact."

Safety was always a top priority. One couldn't ever lower their guard. There was never any knowing when a member of the undead would pop up and try to sink their teeth into one's flesh. As if the threat of the infected wasn't enough to keep someone on their toes, they also had to watch out for other survivors.

People were proving a larger threat than the infected. Civilization destabilized in the wake of the virus. The laws and social norms that once governed people had eroded.

People had devolved into animals that preyed upon those weaker than them. Only the strongest and hardiest survived this world. Briefly, she wondered if there would ever come a time when things would return to some semblance of the calm and order they had been before this apocalyptic nightmare swept the world. She had seriously started to doubt it.

 _Especially after the Whisperers attack on the Lakeside community a few weeks ago_.

"Why?" Paul's voice broke her from the dark thoughts threatening to yank her into an abyss where only hopelessness and helplessness waited. "What's his motive? What does he hope to get out of this?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Doubt coated his voice. "He expects nothing at all for this?"

"He does not," she confirmed. "He expects nothing in return for sending me here with Jordan."

"Right," he scoffed. "He's doing it because he's really a kind and compassionate man."

"As hard as it might be to believe," she stated firmly, "Negan cares much more than you think he does. Or that he shows for that matter."

"Rae…"

"Jordan's sister is one of the infected, Paul." Emotion, pure sentiment crept into her voice. "She's  _three_."

It was all she needed to say for Paul to get exactly why Negan sent her out of the Sanctuary with Jordan.

"Good God." Shock, horror, and revulsion crossed his face in equal waves. "She's a  _baby_."

"He didn't want Jordan seeing him end hers and his mother's existence."

"He doesn't need to see that." He made a face. "On that I find myself agreeing with Negan. Much as it pains me to admit."

"He didn't want me seeing it, either."

"What?"

"He took this responsibility on so that I wasn't the one who would have to do it."

"You're telling me he's going to put them down so that you didn't have to do it?"

"Yes." She nodded. "Say what you want about him, a lot of which I will agree with you on, but he stepped up here and took command of this situation. He's not delegating it to someone else. He's doing it. And he's accepting the weight of it because he feels he's strong enough to carry it."

Paul was quiet for a second. Then he said the last thing she expected.

"You're in love with him."

Before, hearing Paul say that would have sent her into panic mode. She'd have stammered out protests, offered up weakly issued denials, and tried to change the subject to avoid responding. Now, she chose to face the situation head-on and with the one thing Paul would least expect:  _the truth_.

"I am, yes."

"Rae…"

"You don't have to say what you're thinking," she said. "I already know how you feel about him." She had long enough conversations with the mental voices that belonged to him and Harley to know what Paul's opinions about Negan were. "This wasn't something I planned or that I foresaw happening. It just did."

"You have to get away from him."

Leave Negan? Was Paul out of his mind? She would sooner stick a needle in her eye.

"No." She shook her head. "No, I'm in far too deep. I can't walk away from him. Not now."

 _And not ever_ , she added silently.

"You have to." He set his hands on her shoulders, gently turned her toward him. "You have to get away from him while you still can."

"No," she repeated, more firmly this time. "No, I can't leave him. Paul..."

"You have to leave him." His fingers dug into her shoulders, hard enough to cause her to flinch. He gentled his grip but didn't let go. He was simply too desperate at that moment to get her to see reason. "Especially before he figures out that you're Fenix and that your Rose is the one he was ordered by her father to help find."

"I'm going to tell him everything once this situation with the infected Saviors is over."

"And you don't need me to remind you about how he's also working with… Wait?  _What_?" Paul's mouth dropped open as he goggled. "You're going to tell him  _everything_?"

If not for how serious their discussion, she'd have been amused by his reaction.

"I'm going to tell him I'm Fenix," she repeated as Jordan's fingers tightened on hers. "I'm going to trust him, Paul."

 _I have to trust him_ , she added silently.  _I have to take that chance and see if he's the man I think he is beneath the volatile temper, swagger, and snark._

"Have you lost your mind?" He demanded. "You can't tell him you're Fenix."

"I can," she said, firmly. "And I will."

"Have you discussed this plan of yours with your brothers? Robin? Batman?"

"No."

And she wasn't going to discuss this with any of them. It was her taking the risk. If Negan didn't react as she believed he would then it was only her who would be in danger.

"What about Kai? And Rose?" He raked his hands through his hair. "Have you considered what they might think about this?"

"Have you considered that they might, just might, be okay with it?"

"Rae..."

"Enough, Paul."

"No." He shook his head. "No, I'm not done discussing this."

"Well, I am."

"I'm calling Red Robin," he told her. "You need someone to talk some sense into you. And since I'm clearly not able to do it..."

Raya was spared from replying when Jordan tugged on her sleeve to get her attention. She looked at him and saw him sign something with a distressed look on his face.

"You need to use the bathroom?" She signed while talking so that Paul would understand the conversation. "Come on, I'll take you." She looked at Paul. "Can we go inside your place?"

"Of course." Paul turned to lead the way to his area. "Like you even needed to ask."

"I was being polite."

A snort was his response.


	13. Discussions

"Are you completely certain that it's him?" Paul asked once they got themselves settled comfortably in his room. "Are you absolutely, positively, without a shadow of doubt certain that the one behind this is the Joker?"

"Am I one hundred percent positive it is the Joker who is behind this?" Raya folded her hands around the mug of tea he handed her and shook her head. "No, I'm not."

There was no way she could be one hundred percent certain that the two bodies at the Sanctuary were or were not the work of the man once touted as the Clown Prince of Crime. What led her to believe it  _was_  the Joker was a sequence of consistencies that all fit with the clown's usual  _modus operandi_.

The mottling of the bruises that covered the body of Dewey Crowder, the blow to his head all suggested the use of a crowbar. Same as the Joker used when he beat her younger brother, Jason to death in an abandoned warehouse in Ethiopia.  _Same as he has done to countless other victims over the years_ , she added silently.

The little ditty carved into Dewey's flesh was like the one she heard him sing on the Halloween night where she rescued Paul — then nine-years-old and dressed in a homemade Robin costume — from his mercurial clutches.

The words had been aimed directly at her and nobody else. A reminder of their shared history and how he promised her he'd kill her a long time ago.  _Still waiting for you to do that, you sick freak._

She pushed aside the acrimonious and bitter feelings swirling around in her already sensitive belly and focused back upon the matter at hand.  _And that is proving who killed Dewey and the other man_. The only problem was that all the evidence kept pointing back at one person: The Joker.

Even the way Dewey's body had gotten displayed was that macabre brand of artistic flair the Joker was known for. She had seen dozens of other bodies hung in similar fashion throughout her long career. It was something he did when he wanted to garner the most attention from either Batman or the Gotham City Police.

 _Especially Batman_ , she thought, jaw clenching. The Joker did everything he could to get the attention of the Dark Knight.  _Even kill a Robin_.

What disturbed her the most and kept her going back to it being the Joker was the extreme pallor of Dewey's skin, the hint of green to his gore-encrusted hair, and the unnatural grin that stretched across his face. It was almost as if the boy was soaked in a bathtub full of the same bubbling ooze that gave the Joker his own infamous appearance.

Those chemicals were some of the ones the Joker used in the last strain of his  _Joker's Venom_. Only the poisons in that patented toxin caused people to suffer such extreme depigmentation of their skin, to develop that miles wide grin, and to have their hair turn that same ghastly shade of green.

However, the man most known for going to such lengths for the sheer shits and giggles of it was dead.  _There's no way this could be his work,_  Raya thought as a wave of nausea rolled through her belly.  _The_   _Joker is dead. Bruce told me so himself_.  _Said he and uncle Jim cremated his body and that uncle Jim himself poured the ashes into Gotham Harbor_.

Raya couldn't deny the small kernel of doubt creeping through her, though. Even she knew that cremating the Joker's remains and disposing of the ashes was not enough proof to prove that infernal Clown was gone for good.

 _How many other times have we been led to believe that he was dead only for him to pop up, more demented than ever, and with a new game in mind that he wants to play with Batman_?

The numbers, by her count, were in the hundreds.

_At least._

"Why are you so certain that he's the one involved in these murders?" Paul sat beside her on the bed and balanced his own mug on his bent knee. "Anyone who has read a comic, watched a movie, played one of the games or seen the cartoon could easily copy the Joker's style."

"That's true," she acknowledged as she lifted the mug to take a sip of the slightly sweetened brew. It wasn't peppermint tea, as she preferred when her tummy was upset, but the warmth of it was enough to ease the nausea doing jumping jacks in her belly. "However, there is one element that you're overlooking."

"And that is?"

"They wouldn't have any way of replicating the  _Joker's Venom_."

"You're sure it is  _Joker's Venom_  being used?" Paul glanced at her from over the rim of his cup. "You're absolutely positive it is his toxin?"

"I am one hundred percent certain it is his  _Joker Venom_ being used on the victims, yes."

"Were you able to test and confirm?"

"Yes, I was able to test and confirm it was his toxin." She took another sip of the tea, hoping it would wash away the memories of that day they found Dewey. Not that it did. She didn't think there was a drug alive that could erase the memory of finding Dewey hung to that chain link fence.

"Negan actually allowed you to get samples?"

"No." She made a face. "After I tossed my cookies in a wastebasket he pretty much ordered me to keep away from the body."

"You vomited in a trash can?" Surprise tinged his voice, raced across his face. He shot a look of concern at her. "That doesn't sound like you..."

"You didn't see the body, Paul."

 _You didn't see what he carved into that boy's flesh_ , she added silently. She didn't tell Paul about the message. It would guarantee him sending for Robin, Red Robin, Red Hood, and Nightwing.

 _And I don't want them involved_ , she decided.  _Not with the Joker's propensity for going after former Robin's as much as current ones_. Her family converging on her all at once was the absolute last thing she needed at that moment, anyway.  _I have enough going on with Negan. I don't need them adding to the situation._

"How did you get the samples then?"

"Doc Carson knew I would want some and managed to get them before Negan had his men burn Dewey's body."

Something Negan did only because he knew how much seeing Dewey's rotting corpse out on the line would bother her. He had ordered the other body removed and burned, as well. That simple act, driven by compassion and perhaps some deeper emotions he wouldn't admit if she confronted him about them, firmed her belief about a man worth saving inside Negan.

 _He's not like the Joker_ , she thought as she took another sip of tea.  _He's just a broken man trying to do what he thinks is necessary to make sure he, as well as everyone else following him, survives_.

Not that Paul would agree if she told him as much. She understood his feelings. She did. She freely admitted how Negan's ways often featured brutish, barbaric means. Intimidate by surrounding those who crossed him with an overwhelming number of well-armed men was one part of Negan's  _modus operandi_.

Torment people with perfectly phrased taunts, state facts in a cold, blunt way, and intimidate by either swinging around that bat he cherished or getting out the iron was all part of his game. His intention was to break the rule breakers psychologically. He did so by wearing down their resolve after threatening to physically harm them or their loved ones.

Once he finished with them he walked away, laughing at a joke only he got while telling them how they wouldn't forget the rules again.

_Only the Joker is better at these types of mind games._

Until this situation with Dewey, Negan had commanded most of her attention. Going undercover as Fin had been her way of keeping track of the man seeking to take her daughter, Rose from her. Then she saw how she could positively influence Negan. When she couldn't get him to see his way to her side of things, well, she was able to thwart his plans by sending word to her Sirens about when and where his men would be.

Throwing wrenches in each other's plans had become a sort-of game between them. Negan would send his band of goons out to rob the people of what goods and supplies they possessed and her Sirens would come along to take those proliferated goods back. A small smile graced her lips. It was the greatest story of Robin Hood ever told.

Not that Negan saw it that way, of course.

Food and medicines got distributed evenly among all the groups in the area. Nobody went hungry. Not if she could help it. However, even she had to admit that it was getting harder to come by certain items. Subsidizing the world's rapidly depleting food source by planting crops and raising livestock was key to human survival. However, those things all took one thing they didn't have enough of: Time.

Everything took time.

 _Especially the redemption of a potty-mouthed lech with a penance for violence_.

The last week had let her see sides of Negan she had not expected, much less thought even possible. The brash, bold, boorish man who professed to love violence and sex in equal droves had abstained from carnal indulgence and refused to punish someone who stole from him because he was a child trying to take care of his sick mother and sister. For all that Negan proclaimed he was dead inside, he also longed for love.

 _For a family of his own_.

She had watched his face as he looked at Jordan. There was a hunger — beyond his usual one — and a restlessness she understood too well. There was an emptiness in his soul, and a deep-seated need to belong. She could satisfy his physical hunger, sure. However, she wanted to fulfill his other needs, too.

She wanted to give him what he craved most:  _family_. She wanted to give him a place where he felt he belonged, and where he knew he,  _himself_ , was all that was needed.

She ached to show him what his real purpose for living was. Negan could be much more than the man who tossed out juvenile insults while waving around his barbed wire wrapped bat. He could be a leader who didn't need to threaten his people into doing what was needed.

Many of his followers joined him because of his ability to plan and organize. His strength was not in his ability to intimidate. It was in his ability to teach people how to survive.

 _I just have to show him he doesn't need to bully and badger and bash in hands to get them to do what he wants_.

The loss of his wife, Lucille, and the guilt he bore over it hounded him awake or asleep. He had a deep need for something only she could give him:  _herself_. It was not merely a physical need, as she initially believed. No, he needed her specifically. He needed her gentleness, her calm, her rationale, and her love.

That need, even once satisfied, would never die. It would always be a part of him. If she gave freely of herself, if she allowed him in, and let him become part of her, she would have no reason to fear losing him.

Diana told her she needed to find something to believe in. Like her, she chose love. Love, after all, was the only thing that was going to save a world on the edge of destruction. It was the only thing that could heal the wounds they all bore.

 _Love is why I continue to fight,_ she thought as she looked over at where Jordan was quietly drawing on some pieces of paper that Paul had given him. _Love is why I want to make the world a safe place. For everyone. I know it is possible. I know we can make this a good world again. That is my mission. That is what I can do_.  _I can help people find their way._

Like Bruce helped her find hers.

Not that she told any of that to the man seated beside her. No, Negan was a sore subject with Paul. They tended to get into heated debates when his name came up. The less she said now, the better. Paul was already struggling with the very real possibility that the Clown Prince of Crime might have staged his own death and come here to Virginia.

She didn't see him as quietly accepting her reasoning for going back to Negan.  _He might well do what he threatened the last time_. Not that tying her up and handcuffing her would work. She was a master escapologist, same as the rest of her family.  _No knots or cuffs exist that Batman hasn't figured out how to get out of_.

And had taught them how to get out of.

"And the tests came back as being positive?" She heard Paul ask. She shook herself from her thoughts and looked over at him. "It was  _Joker Venom_  used?"

"I wish I could tell you the answer is no." She set the mug on the small crate that Paul turned into a small end-table before turning to him. "But I can't. It's his toxin, Paul."

"But." He shook his head. "Maybe someone else..."

"No." She softened her brusque tone with a smile. "I'm sorry, but no. Outside of myself, only Batman, Hugo Strange, Jervis Tetch, and Jonathan Crane would even know how to replicate the Joker's formula. And of those I named, only myself and Batman are alive. Most of the rest either died in the early days of the outbreak or, in the case of Hugo Strange, gone deep underground to avoid succumbing to the fates that so many others have."

"I understand that the tests came back and show it was the Joker's toxin in this kid's system..."

"But?" Her lips curved. "I smell a but here, Paul."

"But how can you be sure it's the Joker's actual  _Venom_?" Paul indicated the world outside the window with his hand. "I mean, with the way that this virus works it could be mimicking the properties of the..."

"It's not," she interjected gently. "It's not the virus or even particles of time seeping out from the Speed Force causing this. It's the  _Joker's Venom_."

"How can you be so sure?"

Frustration and fear made his tone sharp. She understood that and sought to ease his disquiet by setting her hand on his.

"Well, beyond the chemical compounds all coming back as matching those we have on file, the toxin also has very specific characteristics to it. The green hair, the death smile, the chalky skin tone," she explained when he lifted a brow. "It's all exactly what happens to someone after they were exposed to his toxin."

Paul weighed what she told him in silence. Raya let him, knowing the ramifications of the Joker being alive, here in Virginia, and using his toxin on people who already had gone through so much, felt like a hot poker being shoved through an eye. His having evaded the hands of the Grim Reaper yet again was beyond unimaginable.

It towered above being unthinkable even. There was nothing else this cold, cruel, and capricious world could send after them. It had to send the vilest, vicious, and violent monster of all after them.

"And there have been how many bodies to show up now with these physical characteristics?"

"At the Sanctuary, two."

"And outside the Sanctuary?"

"Well." She reached for her mug, needing the warmth and comfort of the blackened brew. "I've gotten conflicting reports there about how many bodies have shown up with these characteristics."

"Conflicting?" He glanced at her. "How conflicting?"

"Some have said four or five." She frowned down into her cup. "Others have reported they've seen at least a dozen, maybe more."

"Jesus..." he breathed out as the totality of the situation came to light. "So, we don't have any real idea of how many people have been infected by this toxin at this point or even who the one exposing them to it might be."

He didn't come out and say it was the Joker behind the people being exposed. Raya understood why he chose to not speak the clown's name aloud. It kept open the possibility of him not being alive.

"No," she confirmed with a sigh. "Nor do we any idea of where the exposure might have occurred. If we did then we might have an idea of where to begin an investigation."

"What do we do then?"

"That's the thing, Paul." She heaved a soft sigh. "I don't know."

"Maybe it's time to call in Batman then."

"No." She shook her head. "Not yet."

"Rae..."

"I said no, Paul." She smiled to soften her tone. "I won't call Batman here until we have visual confirmation of the Joker being here in Virginia." She squeezed his fingers. "Okay?"

"Okay," he said. "We'll wait until we have visual confirmation of the Joker being here before we call in Batman."

His face and tone indicated he didn't agree with her. Not that she expected him too. Before she could say anything else, Jordan came over and handed her a piece of paper.

"Is this for me?" She signed to him. He nodded his head and gave her a smile that did more to ease the turmoil inside her than the tea. "Thank you," she told him as she took it and looked at the picture he had drawn. It was of a red bird with green eyes perched atop a great big ball of fire with its blue wings spread wide. "This is beautiful."

"It's you," he signed to her with a smile. "A red bird with blue wings."

"I do kinda look like a red bird with blue wings in this dress." She cupped his cheek in her palm before asking, "You want to sit with Paul and I?"

He nodded and crawled up into her lap. She placed her cheek against the top of his head and rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles.

"What are you going to do with him?" Paul asked quietly. "He's too young to be on his own."

She flicked her eyes to his.

"I'm going to raise him."

 _Same as Bruce raised me_.

"What about Negan?"

"What about him?"

"How is he going to feel about you taking in an orphan?"

"He wants to keep Jordan and raise him." Raya flicked her eyes to his. Saw the surprise that he tried to hide. "That's right, Paul. The man you think is nothing, but a demented, perverted, and volatile monster is actually a man who craves a family of his own."

 _And who denies himself the chance to have it because he thinks of himself as a scumball_. She didn't add that part. It wasn't relevant, and he didn't need to hear it.

"Rae..."

"Enough, Paul," she said, more weary than angry now. "I don't want to discuss it anymore."

"Alright," he agreed quietly. "But don't think this discussion is over."

Raya had no doubt about that.


	14. Promises and Presents

Raya was at the small table, penning a note when Paul walked in and set a red cup in front of her. She looked at the cup and then up at Paul, one brow slightly lifted.

"What's this?"

A faint smile curved his lips.

"It's a present," he said, his tone lightly teasing. "You do remember what those are, don't you?"

She harrumphed.

"Of course."

He indicated the plastic cup with a finger.

"Then look inside."

She did as instructed and was surprised to find it was full of black licorice flavored jelly beans.  _My favorites_. Everything inside her shifted; settled with the sweetness of the gesture. It was the sort of present she had come to expect from Negan. Of course, candy would be his way of telling her he found her sweet and wanted to indulge in her.

The man was nothing if not consistent, after all.

Paul's reasoning for giving her the cup of candy was like Negan's in that he intended for it to bring her a little burst of joy. However, it also differed in one crucial way. Its meaning was far less sexual than Negan's would be.

Of course, Negan wasn't thinking about her like a sibling.

That Paul did think of her in that way soothed the grief and guilt pulsing just beneath the surface. She lifted her misty gaze from the cup of candy to his.

"Where did you manage to find black licorice flavored jelly beans?"

"One of the men found some while they were on a supply run."

"I am shocked he found anything out there," she admitted with a slight grimace. "Store shelves are pretty barren out there."

"With your help, we have gotten some vegetables and fruits planted that will help supplement our meager supplies."

"I also have one of his depots raising livestock."

"Chickens, cows, and pigs?"

"Even a couple of goats." She smiled. "There should be meat, eggs, milk, even cheese soon if we're lucky."

He set a hand on her shoulder.

"What we don't have we can always trade with other groups for."

Trading, she realized was how he likely acquired the jelly beans for her.

"What exactly did this cost you in trade?"

She was positive it was more than what the jelly beans were worth.

"Just a couple of books and a coat that doesn't fit me."

"Oh, Paul..."

"Hush," he told her gently. "I'd have traded all of my books and whatever else to get them."

"That's ridiculous," she argued. "I'm not worth your books."

A smile played about his mouth.

"Seeing your surprise and delight is worth the loss of a few books, trust me."

"I am more than surprised and delighted by this gift." She got up to place a kiss to his cheek. "I am greatly touched that you went to such lengths to acquire the jelly beans for me. Thank you."

"You don't let us do much for you," he said as she sat back down. "It's a pleasure when we can. Even if it is just a cup of jelly beans."

"You do more than you think for me." She picked up the pen she set down when she stood to kiss him but did not immediately resume writing her note. A frown creased her brow. "I cannot express how appreciative I am for everything that you do for me."

"You carry way too many responsibilities on your shoulders," he told her in all seriousness. "I wish you'd delegate some of what needs to be done to either me or the others. We want to help you. We are here to help you."

"I know you do." She glanced up at him. "You help me in more ways than either of you realize."

"Not with Negan, we don't."

"Well, there's a reason for that," she teased. "You both look terrible in dresses."

He rolled his eyes.

"I'm being serious." He set a hand on her shoulder. "I wish you'd stay here and let someone else go undercover for a while."

"Do you want to go undercover in the Saviors?" An impish smile teased out her dimples. "You can cuddle up to Negan in bed."

His eyes turned a stormy shade of blue and he grumbled, "Absolutely not."

"What?" She lightly joked. "Don't you want him rubbing a hand over your hip and thigh?"

"No, I would not." He folded his arms across his chest. "In fact, I'd like to kick his ass for rubbing his hand over  _your_  hip and thigh."

"You have kicked his ass," she reminded him. "That's partially why I had to stay undercover. Remember?"

"I remember." He slanted a look at her. "Not that you had to agree to his terms."

"I didn't agree to his terms." She frowned at his snort. "What I told him was that I'd remain and provide the one thing he didn't have at the Sanctuary... a therapist."

"You're still there, though," he pointed out. "And you still go on patrols, derail his plans, help with the infected, and tend to Siren business when you can extricate yourself from him." He shook his head, sighed. "You're going to burn out if you don't slow down or delegate some of your responsibilities to the rest of us."

"You sound like Negan now." His sigh told her he didn't appreciate her telling him that.  _Well_ , she mused, a spark of mischief streaking through her.  _He will like what I have to say next even less_. "Next thing I know you'll be ordering my cute lil' ass to go and rest."

"As much as I don't like him, I agree with him." He made a face. "About that anyway."

"There are many things you'd agree with him on." She turned back to her note but not before seeing the look of disbelief on his face. "If you could find a way to get over your dislike of him, you'd be amazed at how much you actually have in common with him."

Paul scoffed and said, "I doubt that."

"You see Negan as an oversexed, vulgar despot with a penance for violence because that is what he wants you to see him as." She looked up at his murmur of agreement. "That's not even half of who he is. No more than being the love child of Obi-Wan Kenobi is all there is to you."

Paul didn't reply. Not that she expected him too. Negan was a taboo subject. She had long ago accepted that he was a topic to avoid with Paul. Not that she could fault him for the acrimonious feelings he harbored for Negan and a few of the men who worked for him.

Like Simon.

It wasn't like Negan had opened negotiations with Hilltop under a banner of peace. No, he sent his men with the express order to demand half of what the community had in exchange for safety from them. Even after their leader, Gregory agreed to their terms they still decided to kill a boy and take Doctor Carson prisoner. Not exactly the best way to build a relationship between two communities, she acknowledged as she resumed writing.

However, only she knew that part of why Negan leaned so hard on Hilltop was because of the ineptitude of their leader, Gregory. While Gregory had been moderately effective at keeping the people of the community alive, he was also a spineless, manipulative, deceitful little toad of a man. In all the times she was here she had never once seen Gregory lift a hand to do anything more than point out the things others should be doing.

_He even left it to me to handle the horde that attacked the day I came here with Paul._

If not for Paul taking on the role of supply organizer and orchestrating a trade agreement with both her and King Ezekiel of the Kingdom, the food stores at Hilltop would have run out long ago. Something Negan suspected would happen under Gregory's leadership.

Pushing the rest of the community to do what was necessary to keep him off their backs was ultimately what Negan intended. People shook off their apathy when there was someone lighting a fire under their asses. Not that she particularly cared for or agreed with his manner of inspiring people into action.

"You're going back to him."

"I am," she said without looking up. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you going back to him?"

Frustration sizzled in every syllable. Raya heard it, she understood it, hell, she even accepted why he was so upset. However, explaining why in a way that would appease him was another matter entirely.

"I've already told you why I am returning to him."

"No, what you told me is that you're in love with him."

"I am in love with him."

"You just think you are in love with him."

Patience, Raya realized, was a virtue.  _Especially when one is dealing with moody siblings_.

"I am in love with him," she repeated, firmly this time. "And I'm going back to him not only because I do love him but because he needs me."

"No, he doesn't." He moved behind her chair and set his hands on her shoulders. Lightly squeezed. "Negan doesn't need anybody but Negan."

"That's where you're wrong," she told him quietly. "He does need me."

 _Especially after what he's had to do today_ , she added silently. She had absolutely no idea what she'd find once she returned to the Sanctuary. Or what state of mind he will be in for that matter. As much as Negan liked to say he was dead inside, she knew he wasn't.

There was a heart inside his chest.

One that had been badly broken, but which still beat.

Negan did care about people. In his own fashion. She hadn't lied to Paul when she told him that. He did whatever he thought necessary to make sure people survived. He chose his role because he saw himself as capable of dealing with the emotional fallout.

 _He put a child down today_ , she thought as she gripped the pen tightly between her fingers.  _That's not something he is going to easily shrug off_. Putting Yasmine down was going to hurt him. And would hurt him for a long time to come. How couldn't it?

"He needs me, Paul," she repeated with a sigh. "He needs me more than ever."

"Rae." His tone indicated he had reached the last vestiges of patience. "All he wants to do is use you. Same as he uses the other women who attract his attention. Once he gets what he wants he will move onto someone else. Women are toys to him."

"Then why hasn't he tried harder to seduce me, Paul?" She set the pen down and turned to face him. "He's had me in his bed almost every night this week."

She didn't add that he had her sleeping on top of him for most of those nights. Paul would never let her leave if he knew that information. Or carry through with his threat to call Tim and stage an intervention. As it was, he wasn't happy hearing she was sleeping in his bed. Not that she was particularly overjoyed at the horrified expression on his face.

_As if sleeping with Negan is really that terrible..._

"Yanno, he could have easily pushed himself on me at any point," she grumbled. "I wasn't exactly in a frame of mind to say no after Dewey's body was found." She wasn't of a mind to say no when she started dreaming of the Joker crushing Negan's skull in with Lucille. She didn't tell him that, either. Not when worry and fear and something she didn't bother to name was turning his eyes an even darker shade. "He didn't do more than kiss my forehead, tuck me against him and lull me back to sleep by singing Elvis songs to me."

Paul closed his eyes, more of a long blink than anything else. Raya imagined he was praying for patience.  _Or for a guy in a cape and pointy-eared cowl to suddenly drop in for a visit_...

"Rae..."

She kept talking. More because she didn't want to sit there and hear any more of his reasons for why she needed to leave Negan than because she liked hearing herself speak.

"He won't touch me. Not until he knows that when I say yes that I mean it."

"That's just his way of breaking down your resistance." Paul moved to the chair that Jordan had sat in earlier while drawing. "He's trying to trick you into believing he's a nice guy." He sat slowly with a sigh. "He's not. He's as far from a nice guy as one can get."

"He traded in nice for funny a long time ago."

Why she told him that she didn't know.

"What?" Paul frowned his confusion. "Who traded in nice for funny?"

"Negan."

"He told you he traded in nice for funny a long time ago?" One brow lifted. "And you still can't see that you need to get as far away from him as you possibly can?"

"You're wrong about him, Paul," she said wearily. "Horribly, horribly wrong."

"Rae..."

"You're wrong, Paul." She reached over to set a hand on his. "Is Negan a nice man?" She shook her head. "Not always, no. He is crude, crass, contemptuous even. His violent ways of dealing with those he considers as rule breakers frequently upsets and horrifies me. It's not how we do things in the Sirens. However, I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't acknowledge how some of my own methods are not quite violent."

"You don't kill people with a baseball bat and laugh about it."

"No," she conceded with a nod. "I don't. But I do break bones at times for no purpose other than getting whatever information I want out of the hapless baboon I am interrogating. And I have broken bones just for spite. It's a very fine line that I walk really, Paul."

 _That the entire family walks_ , she added silently. None walked that line more than her brother, Jason. He tends to walk on the other side of that line, she thought as she sat back to finish her letter. Jason was like Negan in that he openly and honestly admitted that he wasn't against using lethal methods to bring someone to justice.  _And makes no bones about the fact that he has killed people._

"You're using those methods to stop the bad people from hurting those weaker than them."

"Isn't that what he's doing?" She pointed out gently. "In his own twisted way?"

"No." He shook his head. "That's not what he's doing. It's not," he insisted when she opened her mouth to protest. "He doesn't care about people. He doesn't care about saving anyone. He only cares about himself and that bat of his."

"He does care about people." She ignored his snort. "In his own way, he does care. And he genuinely wants to see people survive."

"By crushing their skulls with a baseball bat? By threatening to kill them if they don't provide for him? By torturing them psychologically? By forcing women to sleep with him for protection? Is that how he plans to see people survive?"

Raya ran a hand over her face and reminded herself that losing her temper wouldn't do anything but cause the fight she had tried to avoid since arriving.

"His rules give people a line they can adhere to," she explained with as much patience as she could muster. "They know what actions are acceptable, what's expected of them, how far they can go before there are consequences." She set her pen down. "He's managed to bring some small measure of civilization back to the world."

Paul sat there with an unreadable expression on his face.

"You don't see it, do you?" He questioned somberly. "You don't see that he has you parroting his words and justifying his actions."

"And you can't see that he isn't a monster."

"Rae..."

"Enough, Paul."

"No, it's not enough." He tried to take her hand, but she moved it out of his reach. He sighed and sat back. "You need to accept that he's not who you think he is."

"And you need to accept that your dislike of him has made you unable to see him as anything other than the devil." She handed the letter to him. "Make sure that Red Robin or Robin gets this?"

He took it with a curt nod. "Of course."

"Thank you."

"Anything else?"

"I'd ask you not to worry but I know that it would be easier to get peanut butter from a leaf."

"You're hilarious."

"I know I am."

She moved to the bed to gently wake Jordan then. The boy blinked his eyes open after a little more prodding. A frown puckered his brow until he saw her leaning over him. His eyes brightened, and a sleepy smile curved his lips. She smiled back and signed to him that it was time to go home. He reached for his shoes as she turned to retrieve her keys from where she set them.

"Why don't you just stay the night here?" Paul questioned softly. "It's late."

"I have to go back." She looked at him. Saw the worry, fear, disapproval and tried once more to get him to understand why she had to go back to the Sanctuary. To Negan. "I can't leave him alone tonight, Paul. Not after what he did today. No rational person can put down a child and not have it mess with them."

Paul was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded.

"You're right," he said. "As much as I hate it, you're right. You can't leave him alone. Not tonight. Not after that." He handed her the red cup of jelly beans. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

She took the cup and placed it in a small satchel with the crayons and paper he had given Jordan.

"Hey," she kidded. "It's me, remember?"

"Yes, I know." A wry grin twisted his lips. "Now, promise me anyway."

She harrumphed and turned to take Jordan's hand.

"I'll promise to be careful if you'll promise not to ask Robin to come kidnap me."

"I promise not to ask Robin come kidnap you."

"Liar." She leaned over to touch her lips to his forehead. "You'll ask Kai to do it."

"Come on." He stood and moved to the door. "I'll let you out."

She followed him from the room without another word.


	15. Checkmate

The drive back to the Sanctuary was an uneventful one.  _Thankfully,_ she thought as she parked and made her way inside with Jordan. There was an overwhelming stench of bleach, the cloying scent of death, and a burning sort of silence that made the air inside the Sanctuary oppressive. Not that the quiet or murkiness that engulfed them soon as the door shut behind them bothered her.

She knew to feel and listen with all her senses.

Most people would ignore the faint whispers echoing through the Sanctuary's labyrinthine corridors, chalked them up to the mind playing tricks upon them. Not her. She knew to trust the shadows, to heed their whispers of caution, and follow their subtle hints and clues.  _Trust the night._  It was what Bruce told her in their earliest training sessions.  _It will never steer you wrong._

Neither had he.

As she made her way down a dimly lit corridor, she thought back to all the other times where she needed to place her trust in the shadows enveloping her in their protective embrace. One always had to exercise caution, extreme control, and move silent as the wind through booby-trapped warehouses, mills or factories.

They had to creep through subway stations turned into heavily guarded bases of operations without alerting the guards stationed around every bend or atop ledges and roofs. They needed to slip aboard huge freighters armed with metal boxes full of explosives without being spotted or setting off any alarms.

They had to learn to not only  _trust_  the night but to  _become_  the night, as well.

That training helped her with slipping into the Sanctuary without any of the men and women on watch noticing her. Granted, it wasn't like she needed to sneak inside the factory. She had free reign around here. However, Negan had men and women in service to him she didn't especially like or trust.  _Like Simon._

Disdain twisted her features as she scanned the upper levels for a glimpse of Negan's right-hand man. If there was one person she wished she could make disappear without Negan immediately suspecting her involvement, it was Simon. A man who was sadistic, cruel, brutal, glib, charming, highly intelligent and remorseless, Simon fit everything that defined a sociopath.

Unlike Negan, who she felt was redeemable, there was no such thing with Simon. He enjoyed subjugation and humiliation. He liked torturing and maiming. He had before the world went completely to shit. She also suspected Simon of lying to Negan to stir up trouble with the groups under Savior control.

An incident with Hilltop's last offering was what tipped her off about something being off. She knew that what they offered was more than enough to cover the Hilltop's fee. She had made sure of it. Yet what got delivered to the Sanctuary was less than it should have been.

Hilltop didn't have the supplies. She had checked while she was there.  _So, where did they go_? She didn't know. She suspected, though. Until she had physical proof to place before Negan she couldn't accuse Simon or any of those loyal to him.  _I will find the proof I need, though_ , she thought as she paused at a corner.

 _And when I do, I will bring Simon and his baboons down_. The only thing she couldn't be one hundred percent of — and not being certain scared her — was whether she'd bring the two-faced bastard to justice under her code or leave him for Negan to handle under his.

A frown marred her brow as indecision intermingled with the unease already twisting her belly into knots.  _Damian and Jason would say I am doing the world a favor by leaving him to Negan. Bruce, Dick, and Tim would say how death not only gives Simon an easy way out but pushes Negan to use the methods I am trying to stop him from using_.

A cough sounded from above and interrupted her internal debate. She glanced up and saw a blonde man disappearing into a small alcove. A second later, a small puff of smoke billowed out from the shadows. A familiar that brought a small measure of comfort.

 _Especially after what happened here today_ , she thought as she made her way up the stairs. The hallway outside Negan's quarters was completely deserted.  _Even Joey isn't lurking around in case Negan has need of him_. Her nerves, already stretched taut, cinched even tighter.

If Joey wasn't lingering around could only mean that Negan had left orders not to disturb him.  _Well, tough_ , she decided as she made her way towards his door.  _We're disturbing him_. She was just stepping by the door of the wives' inner sanctum when it cracked open just enough to allow a petite blonde to peek out.

"Fin?" Her tone was barely above a whisper. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," Raya replied in the same hushed tone Amber used. "It's me."

"Thank God you're back."

She turned to her. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, things are fine." Amber sighed as she slipped out into the hall. "Now, anyway."

"Did everything get sorted out with the infected?"

"Yeah," she confirmed with a nod. "But it was a lot worse down there than anyone expected it was gonna be."

"I know." Raya looked down at Jordan. "He told me everything once he understood that he wasn't going to get into any trouble for not raising the alarm."

"Negan wouldn't allow him to get punished too severely," Amber said with a frown. "He was pretty pissed when he found out about that kid Simon ordered beat for not securing a fence and letting the chickens run amuck."

Anger simmered just below the anxiety bubbling and churning inside her. Why hadn't she heard about that?  _I know why_ , she thought as she cast a look at Negan's door.  _A certain hyper-sexual wretch with a baseball bat opted to not tell me about it because he knew I'd lose my temper about it._

"I can imagine Simon wanted to see Jordan punished for taking the supplies."

"He did until he saw how many infected were down there." Amber shook her head. "I don't think any of them expected to find that many infected. Shoot, I can't believe Jordan was taking care of so many folks without any of us figuring out what was going on."

"People see what they want in times like this."

"I know." She sighed. "Even Simon looked sick when he realized how bad things really were down there."

Raya's gut clenched at hearing that. If Simon, who had no problem with killing anyone was rattled by what was down there then she had a good guess about how emotionally messed up Negan was.

 _Dammit, I shouldn't have let him send me away._ She pushed aside her pensive thoughts. There was time later for her to wallow in guilt and self-blame. For now, she needed to go and see to Negan.

"I should go and see what frame of mind Negan is in."

Amber grimaced. "He's been in a real foul mood since it all went down."

 _Probably staring into a half-full glass of whiskey and brooding about how this shit happened under his watch_. Paul thought Negan didn't care about the people in service to him. She knew he was wrong. Negan did care. People were a resource.

 _In this world, you need every resource you have_. It was how civilization would manage to maintain until things finally evened out. However, she also knew that he cared in general.  _He wouldn't get so pissed off when people do something stupid that could see them, or others killed if he didn't._

"He took on an unimaginable burden today."

"Yeah," Amber agreed solemnly. "He did."

"I'll take care of Negan." Raya glanced down at Jordan. "We both will."

"Why don't I take Jordan?" She smiled at him. "He can watch movies with Mama and I while you check on Negan."

That sounded like a spectacular idea to Raya.  _Since I won't know what I am dealing with until I get in there_. She signed that to Jordan.

"Do you want to go watch movies with Amber while I talk to Negan?"

He pursed his lips as he gave the matter some thought. Finally, he turned to Amber, his face somber.

"Can we watch Star Wars?" He asked. "Or Batman?"

Raya felt her heart twist at seeing him fingerspell that infamous name.  _I'm going to give you Batman, kiddo_ , she promised him silently.  _I'm going to give you Batman and everything he gave to me and the rest of the family. We'll teach you how to survive. This world won't have you. I guarantee it._

"We can watch either one you want," Amber told him with a bright smile as Raya translated. "You're in charge of the entertainment." His face filled with such joy that it brought tears to her and Amber's eyes. That he could feel any happiness at all after losing his mother and sister was a blessing. "Come on." She held a hand out to him. "Let's go so that Fin can check on Negan."

Jordan took her hand but paused to glance up at Raya, a frown creasing his brow. Raya read the question in his eyes and reached out to smooth her fingers over his downy cheek before replying.

"He's gonna be okay," she assured him. "I promise."

He nodded solemnly before allowing Amber to lead him away. Raya watched for a moment, her heart heavy before she turned to make her way over to Negan's door. She lightly rapped on it before pushing it open.

Negan sat in his favorite chair, a glass of whiskey balanced on his thigh and one hand curled around the handle of Lucille.

As she expected, he was brooding into the amber liquid.

"I thought I left orders about not being fucking bothered," he grumbled without looking up. "What the fuck part of that didn't you sorry shits understand?"

"Since I didn't get that order," she said as she stepped into the room. "All of it."

Negan shifted his gaze from the whiskey to her, and the heat of it scorched her.  _It's no different from dealing with Bruce when he gets like this_ , she told herself. Of course, Negan didn't have an entire cave of gadgets at his disposal. Or an entire city of criminals to vent his aggression on.  _No, he just has a baseball bat he could use on whatever hapless fool crosses his path._

"I thought I told your cute lil' ass to stay at the fucking Hilltop until I called you back here."

Her heart throbbed at the kaleidoscope of emotions in that low rasp. He was hurting and badly.  _Not that he will admit it_ , she thought as she moved to him.  _Nothing if not consistent_. She wasn't worried he would lash out at her. She knew he wouldn't.

No, what she feared most was that today's events would cause him to revert to the man she first met. He was far from redeemed, but his vicious, brutal manner of dealing with those he considered rule breakers had lessened with her influence.

"Yeah..." She kept her tone intentionally light, almost playful. He needed it after everything that happened. "Jordan and I took a vote on that while we were at the Hilltop."

"Did you now?" He lifted his glass and took a healthy swallow of the amber liquid. "And lemme guess what you fucking decided." He waved the glass at her. "You decided to disobey my fucking order and bring your asses back here."

"Yes, we did." She perched on the edge of his chair. "And as much as you're stubborn, moody ass will deny it, you're really glad I disobeyed your order and came home."

"Don't fucking test me, Fin," he said in slow, measured tones. "I'm not in the fucking mood for any bullshit. Not even from you."

"That's exactly why you need me here and not at the Hilltop."

"Because I need your bullshit?" One brow arched. "Don't fucking think so, baby doll."

"No." She skimmed her fingers through his hair. "You just need me."

 _You need me to love you._  She didn't say that out loud, though. While she was confident in her feelings for him, accepted and embraced them even, she wasn't as certain about his. Yes, he thought of her as his woman. Yes, he wanted her as his wife. No, he didn't treat her like his other wives.

Even she was able to see she had liberties with him that they were not allowed.  _Like sleeping in his bed with him for one._ She also had his protection and access to the things she wanted or needed without having to trade sexual favors for them. Did he care for her, though? That was what she didn't know.  _And what I need to find out before I tell him everything._

Raya glanced at his face, but he wasn't looking at her. His gaze was directed to the glass perched on his thigh. That he didn't acknowledge her statement shook what little confidence she had. Had she convinced herself he felt something for her that he didn't? No, she was positive he felt more than just a passing affection for her.

A man didn't go to the lengths Negan had for a woman he simply wanted to screw.  _He isn't the type of man who courts a woman_ , she thought as she waited for him to say or do something; anything. No, his approach was far more direct and resembled more of a business transaction than it did anything romantic.

"Yeah," he finally said with a heavy sigh. "Yeah, I do need your cute lil' ass, darlin'."

She had to let out a breath to ease the pressure in her chest.

"Now, was that so difficult to admit?" He grunted a noncommittal reply. She heaved a sigh and reminded herself again that he was no different from Bruce.  _I just can't send him out to beat up anyone._ She slid her fingers to the back of his neck and gently massaged the muscles there. "Will you talk to me, please?"

At first, he said nothing. Then he handed her his glass, presumably because he wanted her to go to the cabinet and refill it. She was about to refuse when his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her down into his lap. She went without complaint, settling her hand on his shoulder, thumb lightly tracing the ridge of his collarbone, and balancing his glass in her lap.

"Goddamn it, Fin." His fingers curled into the material of her dress. "I don't want this shit in your head."

"I don't want it festering in yours, either."

"I can handle it."

"No." She rest her forehead against his temple. "No, you can't. Not alone."

"I've told you I can fucking handle it." He took his glass back, drained the rest of the whiskey in one long swallow. "Now, quit working yourself into a fucking tizzy about it."

"As much as you will likely deny it..." The look he gave her was one of wry amusement. "I know you're struggling with what you had to do today." She trailed her fingers to the back of his neck. Rubbed in soft, slow circles. "I know Yasmine is weighing on you, Negan. It would weigh on anyone who has even a smidgen of a conscience."

"Beautiful fucking angel." His sigh stirred the hair loose at her temples. "Shouldn't have to put kids down."

"No, we shouldn't have to put children down." She touched her lips to his forehead. "Let me help you carry this burden."

"I told you I can handle it."

"You aren't an automaton, Negan."

"I am the goddamn judge, jury, and executioner around here."

"Yes," she agreed quietly. "You are. Doesn't mean you enjoy putting an iron to people's faces or like having to introduce them to Lucille."

"Rules are rules, baby doll. I gotta uphold them so people don't do fucking stupid shit that gets them, or others killed."

 _Totally like dealing with Bruce_ , she thought again. Well, if he wanted to act like Bruce Wayne when he was in one of his brooding phases, she'd treat him as she did Bruce.

"You want me to stay here as your wife, right?"

He sent her a look from beneath lowered lashes.

"You know I do."

"Well, being a wife to me means sharing my husband's burdens with him. I'm his partner in all things, not just the ones he delegates that I may be involved in. I'm his equal. Neither above or below him. I share his life and his bed. I'm there for the good times and the bad. I'm his best friend and he's mine."

"Fin..."

She silenced him with a kiss.

"I'm with you in all things or I'm not with you in anything."

"Goddamn it," he grumbled. "I'm supposed to fucking take care of you."

It was as close to an admission of caring as she was gonna get.

"I don't need a hero, Negan." She leaned back to look into his eyes. "I am perfectly capable of saving myself. I also don't need a man to complete me because I am whole alone. What I've wanted... what I've always wanted is a man to share my joy, my triumphs, my sorrows, and my burdens with. Someone who will sing Elvis songs to me when I can't sleep. Kiss me when I least expect it. Flirt with me until I'm so flustered I forget whatever I am doing. And above all else, I want someone who will make me laugh."

"That's it?" One eyebrow cocked. "That's what you fucking want?"

"That's it." Her lips curved. "And that's you."

He was silent for some moments. Raya felt her nerves jumble and prepared for the hammer to drop when he sighed.

"You're the single most unusual fucking woman I have ever goddamn met," he grumbled. "You know that?"

She harrumphed.

"I like to think that I am the most unusual present a man like  _you_  could be given."

"You're the best present a sorry fucking shit like me could be given."

"Guess it's a good thing for you that I have a soft spot for sorry fucking shits."

"Yeah?" The gleam in his eyes had warning bells going off in her head. "How about we mosey on over to the bed?" His lips stretched into a miles-wide smile that brought out the dimples in his cheeks. "You can show me all your soft spots."

She snorted a laugh.

"And here I thought I'd have to do something drastic like model that watch you gave me for Christmas last year..."

"You mean this fucking one?"

His finger hooked the chain around her neck and lifted it so that the heart-shaped watch pendant popped out from where it nestled between her breasts.

"Yes." She smiled as she laid her fingers over his. "The first present you gave me."

"I keep telling you, baby doll," he whispered in her ear as he stroked a hand over her thigh. "I'm the best present you will ever get. Don't need batteries to play with me."

 _Yup_ , she decided as she rolled her eyes. The man was nothing if not consistent.  _Well, when in Rome, do as the Romans_...

"Shut up and kiss me."

"With fucking pleasure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has followed this story and kudo'd it. Your support is deeply appreciated and cherished. Hopefully, you all have enjoyed this mini-journey as much as I have! If you want to read on to see what happens next with these two, the next story in the series is my current WIP, Burn.


	16. Aftermath

Raya awoke before dawn from one of the snatches of sleep they allowed each other. She felt Negan's warmth at her back, the weight of his arm around her waist, his hand on her stomach, and smiled.  _Not my rear end, at least_ , she mused. She allowed herself a few moments to indulge, snuggling deeper into his warmth and allowing herself to fall back into a light doze.

The ease of being in bed with him like this, the sheer and steady normality of him there beside her, was both comfort and arousal. Part of her was tempted to stay there until he woke up. She liked him best when he first awoke. He was more relaxed, more prone to listening to suggestions and discussing problems, and easier to wheedle information out of.

Not that she could stay in bed, of course. Not only did Jordan need checking on but there were a plethora of other things all requiring her attention.  _Life doesn't stop because you've fallen in love,_ she thought as she stretched.

No, life kept going despite whatever happened. Love, death, it didn't matter. Life kept plugging on no matter what. She finally pushed the covers off and slipped out of bed with only a small grumble of protest from the man in it. She glanced at him as she tugged the blankets back over him.

Disheveled, disreputable, and entirely too desirable by half was her thought. A wicked smile curved her lips as she contemplated crawling back into bed and awakening him with a few well-placed kisses. Later, she decided. She could indulge herself and him once her responsibilities were taken care of.

She headed for the bathroom before she gave into temptation. She showered, using her favorite scented soap. After she towered off, she pulled on the green silk dress he seemed to especially favor and left her hair to curl down her back. Having it loose like this would annoy her when she got busy later, but it made him happy, and for now, making  _him_  happy made  _her_  happy.

Quietly, she picked up the clothes they scattered about the room and dumped them in the hamper before all but floating out the door. She would come back for them later, she decided. For now, she'd go see how Jordan was doing.  _We really need to find a room closer to ours for him to sleep in_.

Raya contemplated that and other things as she exited the bedroom. Ethan had died six months before Christopher was born. Bruce had insisted, with help from her uncle Jim and the rest of the family that she move back into the Manor, so they could help take care of her.

She thought the intimate part of her life ended with Ethan's death. She had a child to focus her time and energy. She didn't have time for romance. She had no need for it.

Then she met Slade Wilson.

He awakened needs in her she thought she buried with Ethan. However, Slade got called away on assignment before anything even remotely romantic could happen between them.  _Then Rose came along, and I decided that my children needed me more than I needed a man in my life_.

It had been years since she experienced that sort of deep, intense hunger.  _No_ , she realized as she padded down the hall. She had  _never_  experienced desire quite like that before. Not the kind that sprang up like wildfire and almost swallowed her whole.

She hoped to have the experience again.

 _As well as all the things that came with it_ , she decided as she quietly made her way through the Sanctuary towards the area where Amber stayed with her mother.

She wanted the insatiable need for more, the dark, breathless groping, the intermingling of limbs, breaths, and hearts.

All of it.

Raya Kean had a lover. Once, just the notion of being intimate with a man she was not involved with romantically would have sent her scurrying for the safety of the Batcave. She wasn't a prude, not by any means, but she was raised with a specific set of values. And Negan was right when he said that she had certain opinions about things like sex and marriage.

_I married Ethan more because it seemed like the right thing to do than because I wanted too._

Not that she hadn't loved him. She had. Very much so. She just hadn't seen any real point for getting married. It wasn't like marriage had done any good for her mother.  _It only got her killed in the end._

Marriage also ended in bitter divorce for her uncle Jim and aunt Barbara.  _And sent James Jr. down a dark and dangerous path._

Ethan believed in marriage, however. The night he proposed he told her the members of his family were the kind who got married, had lots of babies, and spent the rest of their lives disgustingly happy. After much hemming and hawing, she gave in and said yes. The way she figured it, Ethan had faith enough for them both.

_We just didn't count on the Joker deciding to shoot him to get revenge on me._

That one bullet was all it took to end their happily ever after.

It was one of the reasons for why she had been so steadfast about getting romantically involved with anyone. Men like the Joker, Scarecrow, even the Riddler would always go after a member of her family to get at her.

It was the price her and the other members of her family paid for the service they gave the world. She feared fate repeating itself. Her nightmare was a vivid reminder of what the Clown Prince of Crime was capable.

For a moment, the sight of Negan's broken, lifeless body flittered across her visual field. Blood, bone, and bits of brain matter smeared the front of his black leather jacket, the neckline of his snow-white t-shirt, and his slate-colored pants.

She rejected the memory as she continued on her way. She wanted nothing to spoil the joy and contentment careening around inside her. Part of her wanted to laugh and dance around in a circle.

Another part wanted to scream and shout.

Whoever would have imagined  _her_  doing something as unconventional as taking a lover?  _She_  sure hadn't expected she'd ever do something so...  _scandalous_.

Not with a man like Negan, anyway.

Was it any surprise that she gave in, though? Negan had actively pursued her for the better part of the last year. He displayed his undeniable charm when she least expected it. His acerbic wit, keen intellect, and take-charge attitude were undeniably attractive.  _Much as I tried to deny it_ , she mused, as she skipped down a set of stairs and waved at a sleepy-eyed Fat Joey.

For months, she told herself Negan was simply a means to an end. She could wheedle the information she needed out of him, manipulate him to her advantage, and use the resources he had to help others in need. Telling herself he was a tool she could exploit worked for as long as she believed it.  _I just stopped believing it somewhere along the way._

Was Negan still the best way for her to keep tabs on Askalov and Slade Wilson? Yes, he was. Did she still use his resources to better help others struggling to survive? Yes, she did. Did she cajole information out of him? Certainly. However, he was now more than a means to an end.

He was a part of her.

There were two sides to Negan. Much like there was to Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Dick. Only, his sides were opposite of theirs. Negan wasn't a nice guy. He freely admitted he wasn't.

When she asked him why that was, his reply had been, "I traded in nice for funny a long time ago, darlin'." When she scoffed he added, "You'd be surprised how much better funny works. Nice is boring. Nice has never led to fucking anything. Funny fucks all day and night."

He didn't pretend he was a hero. Being a hero wasn't any more important to him than being nice. He openly admitted he was an asshole.  _And he's certainly proven he can be an asshole_ , she thought, sighing. It was the one part she hoped to soften with love and patience.

Negan was also a pragmatic man. He saw his role simply: he was the leader of the New World Order. He took his job seriously.  _Too seriously, sometimes_. However, he justified his approach to things with a cool logic she found hard to refute as he showed her around the Sanctuary.

_"_ _I know what it takes for people to survive this bullshit," he said as he curved an arm around her waist. "It's an asshole like me. Someone with the balls to keep everyone in line, to keep everyone preoccupied so they're not focused on how goddamn miserable they are. I'm saving lives, baby doll."  
_

_"_ _What about the rules?"_

_"_ _They're rules for a reason. They're what makes everything fucking work." He led her up a set of stairs. "No matter how small, or insignificant, the rules are to be fucking followed."_

And uphold those rules he did. Her stomach churned as she thought about the punishments he tended to favor. The worst in her mind was the iron. The smell of burning flesh nauseated her as much as the smell of death. Plus, the risk of developing an infection or the person dying from shock made the practice unsafe and unwise.

 _We have enough undead running around without having to create more_.

Negan made no bones about the fact he was judge, jury, and executioner. It wasn't like he enjoyed doing those things. Something he admitted only after she pushed him for the truth.

_"_ _It's not like I want to do the shit I do, darlin'. I only do them to set some fucking boundaries, to make people aware of the consequences of their actions."  
_

She understood about consequences having actions all too well.  _It's the first thing we bonded over_ , she realized as she stopped to let a group carting some boxes of fresh vegetables to pass.

Not that Negan had been aware of that connection when they met. No, she kept her knowledge about consequences having actions under lock and key.  _Until he managed to get me to spill my deepest, darkest secrets a few days ago_.

Nobody, not even Bruce had managed to unlock that vault. Oh, she told the members of her family little things here and there. And sure, there were some, like Jason, who knew more about what happened inside the hallowed halls of Berkeley Estate than the others did.

It wasn't that she trusted Negan more and them less.

She trusted her family with her life.

No, it was more she didn't want to taint their memories of their families with hers.  _Not everyone got the short end of the stick when it came to their birth parents_ , she thought as she resumed her trek.  _Only those of us who grew up in that environment understand what it was like_.

Like Daryl.

It had been a week since she last thought about Daryl Dixon. Seven days since she wondered if he was alive, where he might be staying, and if he ever thought about her.  _Does he ever wonder why we didn't meet him at that campsite as planned_?

She doubted it.

Daryl wasn't the kind of man to waste time thinking about useless things.  _He's a man of action,_  she thought as she stopped into the infirmary to retrieve the medicine that Amber's mother required to control her illness.  _He lets what he does speak for him_.

Unlike Negan who liked to wax poetic whenever the opportunity presented itself. He verbally flayed whoever crossed his path. He found reasons to skewer people with some clever anecdote or sarcastic quip.

Negan made no bones about the fact that he played by his own set of rules. He did what he wanted and dared anyone to tell him no or try to stop him. He didn't mind getting his hands dirty. He volunteered to do the jobs that nobody else wanted or could handle doing.

Her hand hovered over the cabinet where Carson kept the medicines that were harder to get as an image of a smiling Yasmine swept across her visual field.  _He took on putting down that sweet little baby because he didn't want me doing it_. He did it because he was able to carry the weight of it, because it was the necessary thing to do, because it protects the rest of the people there.

...

"Protecting the weak is the whole fucking basis for civilization, honey pie." His arm curved around her neck, hand poised dangerously close to her breast. "If you're not protecting the weak, you're not fucking civilized."

She looked at his hand, half-amused and half-annoyed by his audacity. She opted to let things pass. Getting into an argument wouldn't help her get what information she needed from him.

"What are you then?" She tucked her legs up beside her on the couch. "If you're not a civilized human being protecting the weak?"

"A fucking animal."

She mulled that over silently.

"Some," she finally said. "Would say you're an animal. That your way of dealing with rule breakers is barbaric."

"I've done unspeakable things... but I've always had a reason for doing them."

"What are your reasons for doing them?"

"It's always been for the greater good." His fingers curled into the neckline of her dress. "Never for fucking pleasure."

"But you say you enjoy killing."

"I sure as shit do," he said without preamble. "Only thing I enjoy more than..."

"Sex," she finished with a roll of her eyes. "Yes, you've made it clear how much you enjoy sex."

"And you don't?"

She ignored that question. It was more dangerous than a loaded revolver. Instead, she asked, "Why do you enjoy violence?"

"After the nerves wore off... After I got used to the shit I did... it started feeling normal." He chuckled humorlessly. "Fucked up shit, I know. But so many people died around me, some right in front of me that I started seeing everyone as living on borrowed time."

"But they weren't dead. They were still alive."

"They were fucking dead. They just didn't know it yet."

"So, you saw the living as being dead." She looked up at him. "What changed?"

"I realized one day that killing a few fucks here and there, bashing in a few heads to make sure ten or twenty people I knew, at least half of which I might actually like, could live was an easy fucking trade."

...

Negan claimed it was an easy trade, but she knew it wasn't. The things he had done wore on him, tore at him, and even horrified him. Yasmine was the latest in a long line of regrets he carried deep inside him.

It was the one action he'd never fully recover from.

Nobody could get back the part of their soul they lost when putting down a child infected by this virus slowly consuming the world.  _He's suffering with what he did_ , she thought as she pulled an orange pill bottle out from among the rest.  _He doesn't think I can see it, but I can. He's hurting over what he did._

_..._

"Fin…" His voice broke the quiet null they'd lapsed into. "It's a goddamn luxury to live long enough to regret the shit you've done. To have a quiet enough moment to allow your actions to fucking horrify you."

"You did what you had to do, Negan." She curled against his side, palm resting on his chest. "You ended her suffering."

"Yeah." His hand roamed over her lower back. "Yeah, I did."

"You protected the people here." She lifted her head to look at him. She could only barely make out his face in the darkness. "That's what it's all about, right?"

"Yeah, it is." His sigh stirred the air. "Doesn't change a fucking thing in the end."

...

That human side was the one she'd been trying her best to bring out of him. She fully believed there was a good, decent, even kind man beneath that tough-as-nails exterior. Was he the perfect man? Not by a long shot. She could do without his crass and crude euphemisms. And his propensity for violence left her wanting to scream.

However, there were things about him that tempered those less than desirable sides.

Much like the members of her family, Negan tended to keep that other side of him hidden, only sharing it with those he absolutely trusted. That he showed that side to her was its own sort of thrill.

He wanted her to see him as more than a monster.

 _He also wants me for me, and not for what he can mold me into being_. Knowing a man like him did want her for who she was helped heal the scars carved into her heart.

Feeling lighter and more carefree than she had in years, Raya palmed the medicine bottle and all but skipped to Amber's door. She lightly tapped, not wanting to disturb anyone who might still be asleep and stepped back to wait for someone to answer. She was startled when Simon suddenly spoke behind her.

"So, finally spread your legs for him, did you?"

Temper flared but got tamped down. No good would come from getting into argument with him. "Excuse me?" She asked as slowly turned to face him. "What did you say?"

"You damn well heard me." He took a step towards her. Trying to intimidate but doing nothing other than annoy her more than she already was. "Don't think you polishing his pole changes anything. I'm still the second-in-command here."

"You might be his second-in-command but I'm his queen. And the queen," she informed him with a toss of her head, "always trumps the joker."

"Watch yourself, bitch." His anger rolled off her back like rain. "I don't have the same hesitations he does about putting a woman in her place."

"And I don't have any hesitations whatsoever about telling Negan what really happened at Oceanside." She saw his eyes widen and couldn't resist treading on tender ground. "Think he's going to be happy when he finds out that you disobeyed his orders and killed all their men?"

Face livid now, he jabbed a finger in her face and hissed, "I think you better start being nice to me. 'Cause you never know..." He snapped his fingers _. "_ Just like that. It could be your last day on Earth." His eyes glittered. "Or it could be the last day for someone you love."

"One of these days, Simon," she said coldly. "You're going to go too far. And you'll reap exactly what you deserve for all the pain you've caused so many people."

"You don't have the guts to do what's necessary."

"I won't kill you," she agreed with a slight nod. "But I won't save you from Negan, either."

Whatever Simon might have said to that got cut short when Fat Joey came puffing up to them. The pallor to his skin and the horrified expression on his face told her that whatever he was about to tell them wasn't going to make either of them happy.

"What the fuck is it?" Simon snapped. "And it better be really goddamn important."

"We, uh, got some more bodies," Fat Joey wheezed. "Three of 'em from the looks of it."

"Where?" Fear replaced her earlier anger. And curled with the dread in her stomach. "The yard again?"

"Yeah." Fat Joey nodded. "Just like last time."

"Go and wake Negan," she ordered. "Tell him what's happened and that I need my black bag from the cabinet so I can take samples."

"Alright."

She watched Fat Joey head up the stairs as quickly as he could. More bodies. It was the last thing they needed after what happened with Yasmine. Could the Joker be involved in what happened to Yasmine and the others?  _It was possible_ , she realized, stomach cramping.  _He has no problem in poisoning children_. She made a note to speak with Carson after she investigated the yard.

"Well, you fucking coming or what, her royal highness?"

Raya indicated for him to lead the way.

"After you."


	17. The Killing Joke

Raya spied the three bodies — all boys, she realized with increased ire — the second she exited the Sanctuary. They, much like Dewey Crowder, had been purposely displayed on the chain-link fence surrounding the yard of the damned. The purpose — as it commonly was with the man in question — was to maximize shock value and create the most fear possible. 

Considering the excited mutterings of the men and women gathered in front of the fence, the tactic was more than accomplishing its intended purpose.  _The_   _Joker has gotten what he wants_ , she thought as she followed Simon down the steps.  _Chaos and confusion_.

The kind of anarchy that only someone like him could create.

“Everyone get back from that fucking fence!” Simon ordered as he shoved his way — none too gently, she saw — through the crowd. “Jesus Christ, we don’t need anybody getting bit here.”

People moved out of his way. Some, she noticed, shrank away from Simon more out of fear than anything else. She made note of who they were so she could speak with them later.  _If he’s abusing these people in any way, I will turn him over to Negan._

Simon was what she’d classify an igniter. He tended to stir up trouble with the communities under Negan’s dominion just to punish. He enjoyed the power and position he held. He used both to his advantage. However, she long suspected Simon was biding his time and just waiting for the right moment to take out Negan.

 _Not that I will let that happen_ , she thought as she wove her way towards the fence.  _I will take him out long before then_.

A few of the women touched her arms and back as she passed them. Raya understood their silent need for comfort and reassurance. After what happened with the infected, to Dewey, they needed to know everything was okay.

“What’s going on, Fin?” A girl -- Tarza, she recalled her name being -- asked in a hushed tone. “Who is killing all these boys? Do you know?”

That she poised the question to her and not Simon spoke volumes to Raya. It indicated the level of trust the women placed in her to not only figure out what was going on but to stop it. Keeping people safe was what she did in her role as Fenix. That people came to her for answers also solidified what they saw her role as: Negan’s queen. As such, she stopped to give the women what answers and solace she could.

“The man responsible for killing these boys is a monster of the highest caliber.”

It was the truth. The Joker was the most dangerous monster out there.  _Lock him in a room with monsters like Ridgway, Berkowitz, and Shawcross and he’ll be the one to come out alive_.

“You’ll catch this animal, won’t you, Fin?” Came from an older woman on her right. “Just like you caught Magda’s killer?”

Raya set a hand on her shoulder. “I promise I will do my best to stop this monster before he kills any more of our people, Sylvie.”

Sylvie nodded and moved back so Raya could get by her. She did so, ignoring Simon who fell in behind her once she passed him. The glint in his eyes told her he had heard what the women asked and wasn’t happy about it. Well, she decided as she approached the groaning figures, that was just too bad. She earned their trust and respect by being decent in an indecent world.

“Well?” Simon demanded. “What the fuck is going on?”

She ignored him and focused instead on the three in front of her. The boys were around the same age as Dewey and in the same rough shape physically. Time of death and reanimation was hard to figure out at that moment, and would need more testing to determine, but if she had to make an educated guess she’d say it was somewhere in the last two to three days.

Her inspection of Dewey's body — before she ended up tossing her cookies in a garbage can — suggested his ordeal had been a prolonged one. If she was a betting woman, she would place one on these boys all having suffered a similar fate. However, there were also key differences between what these boys suffered and what Dewey had before death claimed him.

Yes, bruises mottled their faces and what she could see of their arms, chest, and abdomen. Yes, their flesh was cut open, either by whatever blunt object used during their physical beatings or by some sharp object. Yes, they all bore the same unnatural pallor to their skin, the hints of green in their matted hair, and the unnatural grin that belonged to the Clown Prince of Crime. And yes, there were even defensive wounds to their hands that indicated all three of the boys fought as hard as Dewey before their attacker got the better of them. 

However, she suspected she’d find more contributing to their causes of death than simple blood loss due to blunt force trauma. The Joker never killed the same way twice. It ruined the punchline in his opinion.  _It’s all about the gag with him,_ she thought as she swept her gaze across all three boys _. It always has been, and it always will be._

That’s what separated Negan from men like the Joker. Yes,Neganplayed the game of hunter versus hunted. Yes, he used brutal, barbaric methods to control rule breakers. Yes, he intimidated by surrounding his chosen victims with an overwhelming number of well-armed men. Yes, he used witty taunts, terrorized with cold facts and indicated with a swing of that bat he cherished what’d happen to those who defied him.

Break apart psychologically, wear down people’s resolve by threatening to physically harm their loved ones, and then walk away, laughing at a joke only he got while telling those he let live how he would see them in a week for their drop-off completed his domination.

It was a mind game of the finest order.

Only a few were better at such games than him: The Scarecrow, Mad Hatter, Dr. Strange, among them. However, none of those men were as good at mind games as the Joker. The Clown Prince’s intentions were far different from everyone else’s. Negan tended to break people before forcing them to provide for him and the rest of the Saviors.

The Joker simply broke people.

_And laughs the entire time he’s doing it._

To figure out how these boys died she needed to get their bodies back to the Bunker. There she could look at them in more depth before making any conclusions. If she had learned one thing in her long history with the Joker, it was that one didn’t assume  _anything_  with him. 

The man behind the bone-white face and twisted, mangled lips was a chameleon. He changed his manner of operations more often than people changed their bedsheets. Even after years of intense psychological evaluations and in-depth research there was little known about the Joker. 

Most of the others that Batman brought to justice all had documented birth names, school records, hospital reports, and lengthy histories that explained who and what they were. Many of them lived relatively normal lives before deciding to become criminals. A few — like Harvey Dent — had worked alongside her uncle and Batman to clean up Gotham. 

Dent, she mused, a bitter pang echoing deep in her heart. A man who went from Gotham's White Knight to a dark, convoluted criminal mastermind with the flick of Sal Maroni’s wrist and a splash of acid hitting him in the face. Dent, a man whose only predilection before his tragic accident was a love for leaving things up to chance and the number two.

The same could not be said about the Joker. No one knew who the man under the purple merino suit really was.  _Even the Joker claims he doesn’t remember who he was._  There were a few unsubstantiated facts and plenty in the way of speculation, but that was all there was.

Batman’s — and to a lesser extent, her uncle Jim’s — belief was the man who operated in Gotham under the name of the Red Hood — a moniker adopted by Jason Todd as a way of taunting the Joker — was murdered at some point and replaced by the one now known as the Clown Prince of Crime.  _It made sense_ , she mused as she stepped closer to the first boy.  _If one believes that he replaced Liam Distal and then took a header into that vat of sludge._

Liam Distal’s body couldn’t be properly identified because of the chemicals used at ACE Chemicals. That made the Joker having replaced him or Distal being him as an equal possibility. However, there was also evidence to indicate that either Jack Napier and Joe Chill — the man who murdered Thomas and Martha Wayne — could also be the Joker.  _The devil is in the details_ , she thought as more things became clear the longer she studied the bodies.  _And there are plenty of those when it comes to the Joker_.

Everything in Dewey’s murder led to the little ditty the Joker carved into his flesh. The poem was a message meant to announce he was back and looking to finally right what he saw as the greatest sin: her refusal to call Batman after he shot and left Tim Drake in the alley where Jason Todd tried to boost the tires on the Batmobile.

However, there was no poem this time. The message was in the way he poised each of the bodies. She deciphered it as she looked back and forth between the three boys. 

The first, the oldest, had his hands stitched over his eyes.  _See no evil..._

The second, the largest of the trio, had his mouth sewn shut.  _Speak no evil..._

And the last boy, the shortest and youngest of the three, had his ears plugged with the fingers removed from the left of the second.  _Hear no evil_...

It wasn’t hard to figure out what that pasty-faced freak was telling her.

 _I won’t see him until I hear what he’s saying and do it_. 

Not that she planned on calling Batman here.  _He can whistle Dixie before I will ever acquiesce to his request._

However, there was a deeper and far more personalized message being conveyed here. The three had all been selected because of how closely they resembled Dick, Tim, and Jason when they were these boys ages. Three bodies for three Robin’s. Three reminders about three different times where he tried to carry out his goal of killing a Robin. Three times where she intervened and stopped him before he could achieve his goal. 

 _But there’s still one time where I didn’t stop him_ , she recalled as she stared at the battered body of the second boy. Unbidden, a hulled-out warehouse, its charred frame still smoldering appeared before her eyes. Plumes of smoke lazily reached for the suddenly dark sky.

A faded and yellowed banner with the date:  _04/27/1993_ flapped in the breeze. It was the date of the event that changed her family, forever. What happened to Jason at the hands of the Joker inside that Ethiopian warehouse taught her about how far he was willing to go to break Batman.

_Been twenty years since you killed Jason, you pasty-faced son of a bitch, and you still haven’t managed to bring Batman down to your level._

Nor would he, she concluded, jaw clenching and fingers curling into her palms. The Joker would never break Batman. She’d see to it that he didn’t. More people gathered as word spread through the Sanctuary about there being more bodies.

Raya heard the whispers, the excited utterances, and demands for justice but shut them all out so she could focus on piecing together the pieces of the puzzle the Joker left her.  _Three more dead and for what?_ She asked herself.  _The sake of whatever twisted little game he’s playing_? It hardly seemed worth it.

Not that the Joker cared.

Their lives were about as important to him as sunlight was to a vampire.

Cold fury replaced the fear and grief fighting for dominance inside her. Every boy murdered by that infernal clown would have justice given to him. She’d see to it. The Joker would not get away with what he had done to them. Not this time. His days of murder and mayhem were now numbered.  _You want to play, Joker? We’ll play. Only, we’ll play by Batman’s rules. Not yours._

For now, she set her emotions aside — not away because that was beyond her capabilities — and focused on gathering all the information she could so she could work with the members of her family to figure out what the Joker was planning and stop him before any more innocent people ended up getting hurt.  _Or killed_.

“Ed.” She turned to a tall, skinny man standing a few inches to the right of Simon. “Do you have that Polaroid camera of yours with you?"

 _The one that Negan has you use to photograph those he uses Lucille on_ , she added silently. It was a bone of contention between them.  _Another one_ , she amended with a slight grimace.

“Yeah, I got it in my room,” he replied with a nod of his head. “You want me to go and get it for you?”

“If you don’t mind.” 

“I don’t mind,” he assured her, smiling slightly. “You want me to take pictures of the bodies for you?”

“Yes, I would.” 

“Alright,” he said. “Be back in a couple of minutes.”

“Fin, you want us to put these three down for you?” Someone called from the back of the crowd. “Or do you want to wait until after Ed gets some pictures before putting them down?”

“I want Ed to get some pictures of how things are before we put them down,” she replied. “And then again after we put them down to document any other evidence that might surface.”

“You want me to write things down for you?” Sylvie asked as she stepped forward. “I can take notes so you don’t forget anything.”

“And I can set markers around anything that might be considered as evidence,” another woman offered. “Or just mark off things that don’t look right.”

Raya found herself touched and just a bit awed at how many were stepping up to help. It was a much different reaction than the one that most people had after Dewey’s body was found.  _This is what Bruce wants me to teach people_ , she realized as she turned slowly towards the crowd.  _This is why he asked me to stay here in Virginia._

It wasn’t about her educating people in how to plant crops or build a safe place to live. It wasn’t about showing them they didn’t have to abandon the old ways or compromise their moral fiber to survive. It wasn’t even about teaching them that they didn’t have to fear monsters like the Joker.

It was about helping them to come together as a community.

“That will definitely help to keep things organized.” She smiled at the women. “Thank you.”

Raya went to turn back but froze when the faint hint of cordite rose above the more noxious odor of rotting flesh to tease her nostrils.  _Shot_? Her brow feathered.  _Was one of the boys shot_? She scanned the three but couldn’t see any obvious entry wound. Why would he shoot them after beating them to death? It made no sense.  _Unless he’s recreating some of his greatest hits to further push me into calling Batman_...

That, she realized, was definitely in the Joker’s bag of trucks. Mind games were the Joker’s signature. However, there were infrequent times when he could be nostalgic. A frown feathered her brow as the pieces all started to fall into place. It was possible, she decided, that the blunt object used on the boys was a crowbar.  _Same as he used on Jason_.

“Why the fuck do you want to document this shit?” Simon interrupted her musings to demand. “What the fuck good is a bunch of photographs and notes?”

“They’re photographic evidence that I can look back upon as I am reconstructing the events.”

“The sons of bitches are dead... what more do you fucking need to know?”

Raya struggled to keep her exasperation in check. It was difficult, however, given how much she absolutely despised the man. She took a moment to calm herself before responding.

“Where they were killed, when they died, and how is what I need to know.” 

“Looks like the sorry shits were beat to death to me.”

“I think one was shot.” She moved to the second boy and sniffed. Blood, pus, urine, but no cordite. “Along with beaten with the same blunt object that was used on Dewey.”

“And what blunt object do you think was used, Miss Detective?”

“Likely a crowbar.” She moved to the first boy. “Possible it was a tire iron even.”

The Joker did adapt when necessary.

“Oh, yeah?” There was no mistaking his sneer. “And how do you know what they used?”

“Because he used a crowbar to beat a fifteen-year-old boy to death.”

More excited mutterings greeted that announcement. Raya tuned them out and moved to the youngest boy. His lips peeled back from what remained of his teeth. Bloody saliva oozed from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. He tried to grab her with blackened fingers, but she stayed just outside his reach. She could investigate to her heart's content once she had them back at the Bunker. She got the information she wanted. The unmistakable smell of cordite intermixed with that of blood and rotting flesh.

Anger and pity stirred in her breast as his whines filled her ears.  _You didn’t deserve this_ , she told him silently.  _None of you did._ The other two strained against their chains and joined his atonal chorus. Theirs was an existence of complete unawareness. Not that they knew, that, of course. The only thing these boys knew with any certainty was the hunger twisting what remained of their intestines into bowline knots.

The want of fresh meat - it could be as tough as shoe leather, or melt in their mouths like butter, it no longer mattered - consumed every thought, drove every step and tingled along what few synapses still fired. They groaned with their want, need for sustenance, the auditorial impression rumbling up from deep within their empty souls. 

That the Joker or whoever he had working for him could have chained these boys up and left them to suffer a long and horrible fate sickened her. Monsters, they might now be, and the deadliest of predators in this new world, but they deserved better than to slowly rot. 

 _They're boys,_ she thought as she drifted closer to the first boy to investigate some marks she spied around his neck _. No older than Kai. They should be chasing girls and learning how to drive._ Not finding themselves the playthings of a demented clown hellbent on showing Batman he was just as crazy as the rest of the monsters he brought to justice.

“What the fuck is going on here, Fin?” Simon demanded. “Who is killing these kids and why?”

“A dark and twisted man who uses people like chess pieces,” she replied as she spied the ligature marks through the blood coating the boy’s throat. “Someone who doesn’t care about human life and murders people simply because it makes him laugh.”

“How the hell do you know that this man is the one killing these kids?”

“I know how this man tends to operate.” She studied the hand with the fingers removed. The trauma to the knuckle joint suggested the fingers were likely pulled off and not cut. “I’ve dealt with this man many times.”

“Yeah?” Negan rumbled as he joined her. “Well, who the fuck is this fucking fuck?”

She glanced at him from over her shoulder. 

“Someone even Satan fears.”

“What’s the fucking fucks name, baby doll?”

“He only has one name,” she said as she turned back to the boys. “The Joker.” 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

Murmurs went up as the people closest to her passed what she said to Negan to the rest of the crowd. Soft gasps and utterances mixed with colorful curses, sounds of distress and the guttural whines coming from the damned. The air around her buzzed with an electric current that made breathing difficult. People were figuring out that what was going on wasn't happenstance. Someone killed Dewey and these kids intentionally.

She just gave them a name for who that  _someone_  was.

More voices hummed, blending with the groans coming from the yard. Raya tuned them all out. There'd be time for answers once all the facts were in. There was only one person whose thoughts and opinions mattered to her: Negan's.

_He_  needed to believe what she was telling him about the Joker. As the leader of the Saviors, he had to know who and what he was up against. His people were going to look to him for answers, for guidance, and for support. Things he couldn't give them if he didn't listen and accept what she was trying to tell him.

"The  _Joker_?" A glance at his face showed her one of his brows had crept up a fraction of an inch. "That's the fucking fuck's name? The Joker?"

After everything she shared with him — physically as well as emotionally — he still questioned the veracity of her claim. It rankled. More, it burned hotter than the fires in the furnace. It was a helluva discovery to learn that having him use that flat-iron kept beside the furnace would hurt a helluva lot less than his suspicion did.

How could he question her word after all she had done for him, for the people here at the Sanctuary and his other compounds? Hadn't she proven she was above reproach when she brought the man raping and murdering his wives before him?  _I even let him punish the monster in his own way despite stating repeatedly that I had a prison cell I could lock the man up in._

Raya found herself wondering if she made a mistake in returning to the Sanctuary. Perhaps she should have listened to that angsty little Jedi and stayed the night with him at Hilltop. If she had then she wouldn't have allowed her heart to lead her into temptation.  _Am I wrong about how he feels towards me_? she questioned as she stared at his face.  _Am I really nothing more than another notch on his belt_?

Old fears and doubts crept up to burst the tranquil little bubble she had been floating on. Maybe she was wrong about his feelings. She had to be if Negan doubted she was telling him the truth. She thought their relationship turned a new corner after everything that happened — between them, personally and at the Sanctuary — in the last week. Now, she wasn't so sure.  _If he doesn't trust me then his feelings for me aren't as strong as I believed them._

_And_ , she realized then, doubt making her nauseous, if his feelings weren't what she thought them then her place as his Queen was nowhere as secure as she thought. No, it was a token role only.  _Something Simon is counting on because he doesn't want me as Negan's other hand_.

Same as the bastard was hoping that Negan would grow tired of her now that he had his way with her. It was no secret that Negan tended to get bored once he got whatever woman happened to catch his eye as his own. The chase was what he enjoyed most. Once he got the woman in his bed, once he staked his claim on her, he was done with her.

Would he kick her to the curb now that he had gotten to jingle his balls? It was possible. Monogamy wasn't something Negan believed in. He made no bones about that. He had repeatedly told her he didn't see the point of settling down with just one woman. That there was no reason to continue following what was a bunch of  _old boring rules_. Besides that, he saw having a harem as a badge of honor. A status symbol. A mark of his leadership.

_Well, before he pats me on my ass and tells me I can go and join his playmate brigade,_ she thought, jaw clenching _, he will listen to what I have to tell him about the Joker. He must be ready for whatever that clown might have planned next._

And the Joker had something more planned. There was no doubt in her mind about that. The Clown Prince wasn't someone who'd simply go away after leaving a few bodies hanging on a fence. No, he liked over-the-top, grandiose affairs that left the world in shambles. He lived on anarchy and delighted in the mayhem he caused.

The Joker wasn't like other criminals who had a shopping list of reasons for why they did the things they did. He wasn't looking for something logical, like money or power. He wasn't looking for fame and glory. He was also not psychotic.  _A sociopath_ , she thought as she looked again at the three groaning boys.  _That he most definitely is. Psychotic? No way in hell._

The Clown Prince lived for one thing and one thing only: chaos. He loved watching a city, and all its inhabitants, burn. A faint hint of the Joker's high-pitched cackle echoed over the Sanctuary's smokestacks. It was a vivid reminder of how he was the monster that all the other degenerates and criminally insane feared.  _And Negan has to understand that is who he's up against._

He had to realize that he couldn't simply order his men to go out and capture the Joker.  _It's more that he will capture and torture them before sending them back to Negan in pieces._

If he even sent them back at all.

"Fin?" She angled her head back to look at him. "Is that the fucking fucks name?"

"Would you prefer I call him the Clown Prince of Crime? The Harlequin of Hate? Jester of Genocide? Or would you like one of his more normal sounding aliases?" The fingers resting lightly on her back tapped out a silent warning that she ignored. "We have six that we know he's used — Melvin White, Jack Napier, Jack White, Joe Kerr, Dr. J. Reko, and Oberon Sexton."

His jaw ticked, the only outward sign of how tight a control he had over his temper. It was time to change tactics. Otherwise, she'd lose him completely.  _And I cannot afford to have him shut down on me any more than he already has_. The safety of everyone was worth more than her pride and ego.

"What's his real name, baby doll?"

It was the million dollar question. One she could only answer one way. By saying honestly, "That's the greatest mystery of all time."

"What the fuck's that mean?"

"It means nobody knows his real name."

"Nobody?" His other eyebrow crept up to meet the first. "You're telling me that nobody knows what this fucks name is?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

"Bullshit, darlin'."

"Negan, I've never bullshitted you." Raya scooped her hair into a messy bun, silently cursing having left it loose. "The honest truth is that we don't know his name. We aren't even sure  _he_ remembers what his real name is."

"Why wouldn't he remember his own name?"

"Because he's immersed himself in being  _the Joker_  for so long that  _the Joker_  is now who he is. It's the only identity he acknowledges even having."

"Bull-fucking-shit."

"No," she denied with another shake of her head, "it's not."

"This fuck knows who the fuck he is, baby doll."

"Maybe he does," she acknowledged with a slight shrug. "With the Joker, anything and everything is possible. He's manipulative, cunning, devious, and the most dangerous man I've ever met."

The last was nothing but the truth. The Joker was the deadliest predator out there in her mind. Even men like Victor Zsaszwanted nothing to do with the Clown Prince.

"So?"

"So, it means we don't know his real name. No more than we know what he looks like under the bone-white skin, green hair, and crimson smile. The Joker has carefully concealed any and all traces of his real identity."

"Wait a goddamn minute," Simon cut in before Negan could reply. "Are you trying to tell us that this fuck adopted the look and name of some  _comic_  book character?"

"More like his comic character was based on the man who went by that moniker in the 1930's." She frowned when he laughed. "What about this is funny to you?"

"You," he sneered. "You're what's funny. Spewing all this bullshit about murderers named after comic book characters."

"Many serial killers have derived their names or gimmicks from things like books or characters in movies."

"How the fuck do we know that  _she's_  not the one killing these kids?" He demanded, his gaze cutting to Negan. "She has free fucking access to the place. She could just as easily have killed these kids and left them the fuck here to scare the shit out of people."

A few audible gasps greeted Simon's accusation. Against her, Negan stiffened. Whether it was because of Simon's accusation she was the killer or because Simon insulted him by proclaiming her as the killer, she didn't know. She would like to believe that it was because her honor and integrity had just been called into question. However, given that Negan didn't believe her any more than Simon...

"It's kinda funny that all this shit started after she disappeared," Simon continued saying. "Maybe it was her way of getting herself called back."

Raya decided two could play Simon's game.  _Only, I'm far better at it than he is_. She drew herself up to her full height and met his dark gaze.

"And if I didn't know that this is the work of the Joker I'd question if it wasn't  _you_ who killed these boys." She let her lips curve into a knowing smirk. "You have ordered boys killed before after all."

Simon's eyes narrowed into thin slits. He ignored her statement, however.  _Truth_ , she thought as he ran a hand over his face,  _is hard to combat_.

"How?" he demanded. "How do you know it's this asshole that's killing these kids and not anyone else?"

"I know what the Joker is capable of. I have seen his signature style so many times that I know it like I know the back of my hand."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed. "And what proof do you have to support your claim?"

"The proof will be in their remains." She waved a hand towards the boys. "He doesn't vary his style very much. He likes waxing poetic. This is just the beginning for him. Murdering a few boys and leaving them on a fence? That's just the start of the game. Soon, he will work up to bombing entire compounds or poisoning everyone here in the Sanctuary with his Joker Venom."

"See?" Simon swung towards the crowd. "This bitch is crazy. There's no Joker. It's all a figment of her overactive imagination."

"Believe me, he's not."

She wished to hell he was.

"Prove it."

"I will once I can get the bodies somewhere to examine them."

Someone nearby coughed and quietly asked, "How do you know so much about him, Fin?"

"Because I've worked alongside my uncle, who is the police commiss-"

"Was the police commissioner, baby doll," Negan corrected as he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. "Only laws are those we make and enforce for ourselves."

It wasn't like he needed to remind her about how tribal law was what governed the communities that rose up after the outbreak. In the absence of one unified system to uphold the established norms and rules of a society, it fell to whoever got chosen to lead a group or faction to decide what rules the community would be expected to follow.

No other community had jurisdiction over another and civil or criminal matters got handled by either the group's leader or a tribunal of selected members. It was a return to how things were before political institutions rose up to govern how people should act within society. However, there was one city that still had a system in place that upheld the laws laid out before many of them were even born.

"Not in Gotham." She signaled for Ed when she saw him exit the Sanctuary with the Polaroid in hand. She wanted to gather all the evidence she could before Negan ordered the bodies burned. "The police are still very much a presence in Gotham."

_As are Batman and a handful of our other associates_. She didn't tell people that. The Joker was causing enough issues at that moment.  _Not that him causing issues was uncommon_ , she realized as Ed started snapping pictures.

The Joker loved creating mass paranoia and confusion almost as much as playing games with his favorite playmate.  _Almost_ , she thought with a grimace. There was nothing the Clown Prince loved more than playing one of his demented little games with the Dark Knight. Breaking Batman was his life goal. He'd admitted as much on dozens of occasions.  _That's why I can't tell Bruce that he's back_ , she realized as Negan's hand slid to her hip and started to rub in a slow, suggestive circle.  _We have to handle the Joker on our own. We can't involve him. Or Dick._

She felt a smidge of guilt for cutting her best friend out of things but soothed it by telling herself he had an infant son at home who needed him more than she needed Nightwing.  _He did the same to me when Kai and Rose were Richie's age_ , she recalled.  _Told me I needed to focus on raising them and to leave monsters like the Joker to him and the others._

Fair was only fair in her mind.

"How do you know the police are still a presence in Gotham?" Someone at the back of the crowd asked. "We don't have a way of communicating across any great distance. Even the walkies we use only have a short-range at best."

Raya looked at the people gathered around her and Negan and smiled.

"Long as my uncle has breath in his body there will always be a police presence in Gotham."

"How can you be sure he's even in charge of the police department?" Simon demanded. "Or that he's even alive? You got a crystal ball or some shit telling you what's going on in this city of yours?"

"I know my city and our people."

"You don't know shit."

Raya felt a snap of anger at his sneering tone but rejected it. Getting angry wouldn't help her cause. He was trying to discount her in front of the rest of the community. Doubt would diminish her power and authority.  _And he wants to take that from me because he knows I'm a threat to his power_.

Or so she liked to believe, anyway.

"I know the undead are tame by comparison to what we Gothamites deal with on an almost daily basis."

"Like Chicago?" Sylvie asked. "Or Los Angeles?"

"Gotham is worse than both cities combined," she told her. "Every day-week-month in Gotham brings some fresh horror. Every second-minute-hour is some sort of new nightmare. This virus is nothing more than one more trauma on top of decades upon decades of other ones."

"Is that why you aren't afraid of this Joker?"

Not afraid of the Joker? That was laughable. She left a good man in a farmhouse because she had been terrified that the Clown Prince would find them.

"Don't take my calm as being sign that I'm not afraid. I am."

"You are?"

"Yes, I am." She turned her head to look at the woman who spoke. "I've seen what he's capable of. I've played enough of his games to know to be afraid of him and of what he can do."

"Are you sure, Fin?" One of the men hesitantly asked. "Are you sure it's this Joker fella? For real?"

Raya went to answer but Negan surprised her when he spoke.

"If Fin says it's this fucking fuck then it's this fucking fuck."

Her mouth dropped open in shock. Did he just support her?  _Nah, he couldn't have._ Not after doubting her earlier. However, a tiny voice urged her to believe in him. To trust him. To give him a chance to process what she told him.

She looked up at him. His face revealed nothing. Not that she much expected it too. However, his eyes were firmly fixed on the back of Simon's head. A glance down at the hand wrapped around Lucille revealed he was gripping the bat tight.  _He's pissed at him for publicly accusing me of being the one behind these murders_ , she realized, her heart turning over in her chest.  _He's contemplating hitting him with Lucille for it_.

Relief and fear ran through her. Knowing he did believe her about the Joker, that he trusted she was telling him the truth, and that he supported her was as good as any declaration of affection. It let her know she wasn't wrong and that her place beside him was not a temporary one.

"Why's he coming after us?" Someone, she thought the woman's name was Ellie, asked. "What does he want?"

"Me," Raya replied truthfully. "He wants me."

The hand on her hip froze in mid-stroke.

"And why the fuck does this fucking fuck want you, baby doll?" His eyes shifted, pinned her. "Hm?"

The words were spoken coolly, calmly. Yet he was anything but. His dark rasp warned he was in an increasingly volatile mood. One small spark was all it'd take for him to explode. And that is what I don't need right now. No, she needed Negan to remain cool and reasonable.  _Once we have the Joker_... she didn't finish that thought.

_He is no match for the Joker_ , she thought as she stared into his eyes.  _For all that he likes to think he enjoys violence, he has never seen the Joker's brand of it_.

Again, a fragment of the dream that never left her alone crept across her visual field. Blood, bone, and bits of brain matter smeared his black leather jacket, the neckline of his snow-white t-shirt, and his slate-colored pants. What little remained of the top of his head still sported swatches of dark, matted hair. The item used to bludgeon him to death the very one he held so tightly...

...  _Lucille_.

Instantly, the bands of panic and fear and guilt formed. Around her chest, around her head, around her throat. Tightening, tightening until she could hardly breathe. Negan didn't have a chance against a man like the Clown Prince of Crime. She had to find and stop the Joker before he could get his hands-on Lucile. Before he could make her nightmare a reality. Before he could...

"Answer me, Fin."

His low rasp snapped her back to reality. No, Negan was no match for the Joker. Even her own family had failed against the Clown Prince. A hulled-out warehouse, its charred frame still smoldering appeared before her eyes and reminded her again of her greatest failure.  _I won't let him kill Negan_ , she decided, fingers curling into fists at her side.  _I won't let him use Lucille on him. I won't. I absolutely_...

"Fin, I'm waiting for a goddamn answer here."

"Revenge." She looked again at the three boys groaning and straining against the ropes holding them in place. "What other reason is there but revenge?"


	19. Chapter 19

"Revenge?" Negan kept his voice carefully, neutrally blank. "Revenge for what?"

Fin just gave a slight shake of her pretty little head before saying in that slightly dismissive way she used when she was keeping shit from him, "There are a dozen reasons I can name for why he wants revenge on me."

If the woman thought that was gonna be the end of the discussion, she was sorely mistaken. He curved his hand over her stomach and pulled her more firmly against him before telling her to, "Start naming them."

He could tell by the look she sent over her shoulder that she didn't appreciate him ordering her to start talking. Well, that was too fucking bad. The woman just told all and sundry that she had some sick, twisted fuck killing kids as a way of drawing her cute lil' ass out into the open so he could get revenge on her.

_Does she think I'm going to just let that shit happen_?

Clearly, by her slight sniff that was exactly what she expected him to do. Well, he'd absolve her of that notion real fucking quick.

He already lost one wife, he wasn't losing another.

Especially to some deranged fuck.

"Start naming them, Fin."

She harrumphed and looked again at the three kids the sick fuck tortured, murdered, and then mutilated.  _All to get a fucking rise out of her_ , he thought, anger doing a slow boil beneath his skin. Whoever this Joker was, he made one big fucking mistake when he decided to play this game with Fin.  _She'll find him_ , he decided.  _But I'm going to introduce the sorry shit to Lucille_.

"Fin," he dropped his voice an octave and tapped a finger on her belly to let her know he was running out of patience. "Start naming his fucking reasons."

"I won't let him win," she finally said quietly. "That's the biggest reason he has. I won't let him win."

"Win?" He frowned. "Win, what?"

"The game he's been playing with me and my family."

She was being deliberately evasive, giving him answers with just enough detail to answer his questions without giving anything away. She wasn't telling him everything because there was something she didn't want him knowing.

If he had to stab a guess at what the something related too, it was her family. Fin was a closed book when it came to her family. Well, he managed to drag the truth about that abusive fuck of a father from her with careful prodding.

He'd get the truth from her about this sick fuck the same way.

"Game?" He moved her back so that Ed could take more pictures with the Polaroid. "What kind of game?"

"One he's been playing since I was a kid."

"Yeah, now tell me what kind of game it is."

"One where he tries to break people with a strong moral compass by forcing them to do the one thing they would ever do."

There were a few things Fin refused to do. The biggest...

"He wants you to fucking kill him?"

"Me." She took the polaroids Ed silently handed her. "And others like me."

"Others like you?" One eyebrow lifted. "What the fucks that supposed to mean?"

"The Joker attempts to break people with principles," she explained as people buzzed around them like bees. "He finds ethics boring, tedious. They get in the way of a good laugh to his way of thinking. So, he does everything he can to break them, to show them how at the end of the day we are no better than animals."

"So, he's trying to show you that you're no different from him."

"The Joker believes we are all killers." She held the pictures up. "Some of us just need a push to let that killer out."

"He's not wrong, baby doll." He took the pictures and slid them into his pocket. She could look at them later if she needed. For now, she'd seen enough of this fuck's handiwork. "Man is at the top of the fucking food chain because he is the best killer out there."

"Yes, but man also chooses why he has to kill," she pointed out. "Man kills for food, for safety, to protect those he loves. However, there's a difference between killing for necessity and killing for the fun and enjoyment of it."

"I like killing people, darlin'."

"No, you don't," she refuted quietly. "You've just allowed yourself to believe that you do because it's the only way you can cope with what the world has demanded you have to do so you can survive."

They had been having this argument since almost the moment he met her. Her ability to see him — the real him — annoyed him as much as it aroused him. Fin never made any bones about the fact that she was a profiler. She looked at the pieces of people and fit them together.

_Like a puzzle_.

Mostly, she had him pegged right. There was still a part of him — a very minuscule one — still horrified by some of the things he had done. However, he did those things for one reason and one reason alone: survival.

His, as well as all those who chose to follow him.

"If you kill the right people, at the right time, everything falls into place," he told her. "Everybody's happy. Well, some more than others but who gives a fuck long as they're doing what they're supposed to be doing."

"You don't have to kill, Negan. I've told you that hundreds of times. I've shown you that you can still be an effective leader without having to kill."

"Fin, you gotta understand that by killing one, you could be saving hundreds of others. And that's what we're all about here: saving people."

"I save people, Negan." She laid her hand atop his. "And I've never taken a life to do it."

"Maybe this fucking fuck wouldn't be killing kids if you had killed him."

He wasn't being fair by placing the blame for these kids on her. It wasn't her fault that this sick, twisted piece of shit stalked her here from their hometown. She needed to see the truth, though. She needed to learn, to understand that the old ways were dead.  _Killing is the only way to survive in this world._

Even as he thought it, he realized he'd only be fooling himself if he let himself believe it. Her becoming a killer would take away all those elements that he was most turned on by. Fin wouldn't be Fin if she didn't stick to her principles.

Even now he found himself more than a little turned on by that rigid moral code of hers. Fin found a way to survive that didn't involve killing. In the world that was before this fucked up one, he'd have respected her dedication and commitment to solving problems in her non-lethal fashion.

However, if there was one thing this world taught him it was that only the strong survived. One needed to light a fire beneath peoples' asses.

Rules were rules for a reason.

He upheld those rules and enforced them not only for the benefit of himself but for all those in service to him. People best provided when they feared someone dying if they didn't.

"I'd be giving him what he wanted if I killed him," he heard her say. "And that? That's the last thing I will ever give him."

"You find this fucking fuck, Fin," he told her. "And you bring him to me like you did Choker Charlie. I'll deal with him."

"Negan..."

"That's fucking final."

She was silent for about as long as it took him to draw a breath.

"Give me your knife."

"Why?"

"Because if you want me to find the Joker," she explained as she turned to face him, "I need to check these three for what clues — if any — he left. The only way for me to do that is by putting the boys down and taking them somewhere where I can properly examine them."

_Autopsy them_.  _Meaning she has to cut the sorry shits open and take out whatever is left of their organs. Examine them._

And that, he realized with a fresh burst of anger boiling in his gut, was what that sick, twisted fuck wanted. He put the bodies there at the Sanctuary so she would find them.

Because he wanted her to have to cut them open.

Because he wanted her to get her hands bloody.

_Fuck_ , he thought as he looked down into her pale face.  _Fucking fuck. Fucking fuckity fuck. Fucking fucker_.

He would see Lucille covered in the mother fucking fucks blood for this.

For now, he told Fin, "Take Lucille."

"Take Lucille?" Her eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline. "Why?"

"So, I can handle this shit."

"No, I..."

"Take Lucille and go inside, Fin. That's a fucking order."

She frowned at him but took Lucille as he instructed.

"Fine," she grumbled. "Have the boys taken to the surgical room. It's the best place for me to work."

He watched as she turned and made her way back through the crowd. Something about her being alone — even though there were dozens of people milling around — caused his balls to tingle.  _Can rectify that shit_ , he thought as he sent a look at Fat Joey.

The rotund sonuvabitch nodded and hightailed it after her without a word. He didn't care if Fin wouldn't appreciate having a bodyguard tailing her cute lil' ass around. When he wasn't with her, someone else would be.

_And that's final_.

Once Fin was inside the Sanctuary, he turned to Simon. Waiting until Fin wasn't around before confronting him had been difficult.

Now, that she was gone...

"You ever say shit like that about Fin again," he warned Simon in one long, dark rasp, "and I will cut your balls off and shove them down your fucking throat."

Fear flickered in the depths of Simon's eyes. However, Negan could also see a bit of that madness Fin had warned him about. Simon was willing to use fear and brutal means of intimidation to make sure people fell into line. Initially, that willingness to do what was necessary had made him his most trusted and valued soldier.

Recently, though, he found himself becoming annoyed with how Simon was conducting business.  _Fin knows what he's been doing behind my back_ , he realized as Simon spat on the ground.  _That's why he's trying to fucking discredit her. To cover up the shit he's done._

Well, it didn't work.

"Look, I get you're screwing Fin and all," Simon said. "But truth is truth. She's spouting off bull..."

"Keep running your fucking mouth." He took a step towards him. "I triple goddamn dog dare you to keep running your fucking mouth."

"Whoa." Simon held his hands up as he backed away. "Let's just calm the fuck down here."

"I'm calm as a priest in a room of teenage boys," Negan replied. "What I have is a real fucking problem with the shit you just pulled. It stops now. Or else we part ways. You understand?"

Something dark and sinister passed across Simon's face. So, the sneaky fuck was thinking about taking him on, was he?  _Well, if he thinks he has the balls to challenge me for the right to call himself King, well, he can go ahead and step up to the plate..._

It'd be his last goddamn mistake.

As quickly as it crossed his face, the shadow disappeared. Simon's expression slid back into that jovial one he typically wore. His lips crept upwards as he folded his hands behind his back. The posture of a liar.

"Whatever you say," he said simply; smoothly. "You're the one in charge."

_And don't you fucking forget it_ , Negan thought.  _Otherwise, you'll be the next undead fuck who gets chained to this fence_.

"Take some of the men and go to the outpost," he told him as he turned back to the three boys awaiting their suffering ended. "Make fucking sure that everything is operating as it should be."

"Will do," Simon said. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." Negan closed his fingers over the handle of the knife Fat Joey passed him before scampering after Fin. "Stay the fuck there until I call your ass back."

He heard Simon walk away, barking orders to a few of the fucks that followed him. He tuned him out for the moment. His attention was firmly on the boy with his hands sewed over his eyes.

"Sorry, kid," he said a second before he plunged the knife into his forehead.

…

Raya made her way through the Sanctuary, Fat Joey a few steps behind her. She'd have been annoyed at Negan for assigning him as her security detail if she wasn't wise enough to realize he did it because he  _did_  care.

Negan didn't wear his feelings on his sleeve.  _Not the more intimate ones, anyway_ , she thought as she headed for the surgical room to wait for his men to deliver the boys. He wasn't the kind of man to say  _I love you_. He showed it through the little things he said or did.

Like Bruce.

_And the others_ , she realized. None of them were especially good at saying those three particular words. Part of that was because of everything the Joker — and the rest of the criminal elite — had done to them.

Negan publicly supporting her, his anger at Simon's accusations and the fact he again took on putting down people infected by this virus all spoke volumes.

Did he love her?

Raya wasn't foolish enough to believe he did.

Care for her? Sure. Love? No, that emotion belonged to the woman he named his bat after.

'The bat he trusts you to carry,' Harley whispered in her ear. 'That he handed you in front of his men to make it clear what your place is.'

_He lets Fat Joey carry her_.

'But only you can use her,' came Harley's breathy reply. 'Or have you forgotten about the horde that the Wolves released on that satellite outpost you and he visited a few months ago?'

_I remember,_ she told her. _He tossed me, Lucille, when I got surrounded_.  _What's your point?_

'He's never let anyone else use her in a situation like that. Only you.'

That brought Raya up short. She looked down at the bat in her right hand. Was what her internal Harley telling her true? Was she the only one he allowed to actually use Lucille?  _Well_ , she decided as she stopped in the middle of the empty corridor.  _There's one way to find out._

"Joey?"

"Yeah, Fin?" Joey moved up beside her. "What is it?"

"Has Negan ever let any of the other women he took as wives hold Lucille? Use her?"

He shook his head. "No. Just you. Why?"

"I was just wondering is all."

"You're the only one of his wives he lets carry her, Fin."

She made to correct him but decided against it.  _Nobody is going to believe I'm not one of his wives_ , she realized with a small sigh.  _Even I'm starting to not believe it and I know the truth._

"He gives Lucille to you, though," she said. "I've seen him hand her over many times."

"Only when she needs cleaning."

"But you've brought her to him," she pointed out. "You've brought her to me."

"Yup, I have," he agreed with a nod. "I'm allowed to touch her when I'm cleaning her or bringing her to you or him. Otherwise, I'm to keep my hands off. We all are unless we wanna be on the receiving end of her."

"But I can use her."

"Yup." He gave her a small, shy smile. "'Cause you're not like us, Fin. You're different."

She wasn't like them, Joey was right. She was from the city that spawned the killer in their midst. A monster willing to do anything, even kill kids, to achieve his end goal.

Raya found herself propelled back twenty-six years.

To Gotham.

To Halloween.

To the moment when she added her second offense to the Joker's list...

...

**Crime Alley, Gotham**

She used the filters in her mask to zero in on the figure trussed up like a turkey, taking in the neon green pixie shorts he wore, matching ankle boots, red and yellow tunic, and the black cape with a yellow underbelly.  _He's dressed like Robin_ , she realized, stomach churning with rising dread and fear.

Further study revealed the boy was wearing a green half-mask that concealed much of his upper face from view.

_He's not Jason_ , she thought as she dropped down onto a wrought iron railing to get a better view. The boy was younger than the acting Robin.  _And he doesn't have the mouth or spunk that our new Robin has for another_.

Exactly who the boy was, though, she didn't know.

Not that it mattered.

He was in the hands of the most nefarious of all of Gotham's élite criminals.

And she was the only one of Gotham's silent guardians there to save him.

...

_Save him, I did_ , she thought as the memory slowly faded.  _I kept the Joker from using him against either Batman or the real Robin._

Who was that boy?

Her angsty little Jedi, Paul.

She hadn't told Negan about that night, though. Or about any of the other nights where she stopped the Joker from achieving what he wanted.

Why?

Because all those explanations could lead him to figure out she was Fenix.

_And I can't let him know I'm Fenix until we talk about Rose and Christopher_.

"Hey, uh, Fin?" Joey said, interrupting her thoughts. Raya looked up and saw him standing in front of the surgical room door.

"What is it, Joey?"

"There's something stuck to the door."

"Something stuck to the door...?" She frowned. "What?"

"Looks like a playing card."

Raya felt the world tip at hearing those words. It took all her willpower to not sink to the floor.  _No_ , she thought over and over.  _It can't be. There's no way_.

"Is it a joker playing card?" she managed around the lump in her throat. "Black, purple and green with the word HA written in red?"

_Written in blood,_  she silently corrected.  _It's always written in blood._

"Yeah." He looked back at her, his expression puzzled. "How'd you know what it was?"

"Because it's his calling card."

Joey's eyes went wide as saucers. His fear was understandable. The monster who murdered five boys — that they knew of — was somewhere in the Sanctuary.

"Go and get Negan," she ordered. "Tell him to come here. Then I want you to take some men and go keep an eye on Jordan. Don't let him out of your sight, Joey. Do you understand me?"

Joey nodded and trotted off, leaving Raya alone in the corridor. She stared at the playing card stuck to the door, silently seething, but determined about one thing: she would not give the Joker the satisfaction of calling Batman.

_I'll kill the son of a bitch, first._


	20. Chapter 20

"Goddamn it, Fin," Negan rasped once they were alone in the surgical room. "Why the fucking fuck didn't you tell me that you have some sick, twisted shithead wanting revenge on you?"

It was a fair question, Raya realized as she turned the playing card over and over in her hand. Why hadn't she told him about the Joker?

_I knew it was that pasty-faced freak soon as I saw the condition of Dewey's body._

How could she not know? The brutality of the beating, the personalized poem scratched in his flesh, the posing of the body on that chain link fence... all of it pointed to one person: The Clown Prince of Crime.

Yet, she kept her suspicions to herself.  _Well_ , she amended with a slight grimace.  _I shared my suspicions with Paul and passed a message to Tim that told him I believed the Joker was alive_...

But she hadn't told Negan.

There was only one logical reason she could think of for why she decided to keep such vital information from him: Ethan.

_I haven't told him how Ethan died_ , she thought as he came up behind her.  _Only that he's dead and has been for a long time._

"Fin?"

"Hm?" She didn't look up from the card. "What?"

"Why didn't you tell me about this sick fuck?"

_Because it opens doors inside of me I'm not ready to walk through_ , she told him silently. Ethan was for her what Lucille was for him: a subject spoke about only in the vaguest of terms. It was easier for her to speak about her father and what he had done to her mother than it was to speak about Ethan and what the Joker did to him.

"I should have told you about the Joker after I saw Dewey's body." She set the card on the table and turned towards him. "I'm sorry I didn't. Maybe these boys would still be alive if I had."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I was told the Joker was dead." That much was the truth. Bruce had told her the Joker was dead. And she believed him when he told her. "When I was told he was dead, I believed him dead. Especially since it was my uncle who placed the Joker's body into the furnace." She glanced at him. "He stayed there and watched his body turn to ash."

"But it wasn't the fucking fuck, was it?"

Voices outside drew her attention. She moved to the window and stared down at the yard. At the walking corpses struggling against the chains keeping them attached to concrete girders and jagged slabs of concrete.  _Undead scarecrows are what they are_ , she thought, belly churning with a familiar mix of anxiety and disgust.  _A bunch of broken, discarded marionettes who now dance for an audience that doesn't bother to clap once their performance is finished_.

Raya found herself missing Gotham at that moment. It wasn't hard to figure out why. She knew who and what she was in Gotham. The problems were relatively easier to solve.  _And I had Batman, Wing, Hood, Red, Uncle Jim, and the others to help out when things got really tough._ Not that she didn't have them to rely on now. One call home would bring Batman and the rest of the birds to Virginia.

_We need to limit communications with home_ , she realized as Ed and a few of the others laid out tarps to place the bodies of the boys on.  _Go silent or use alternate means of communication. At least until we track down where the Joker's hiding._

If they even could find his hideout, she realized as she watched the men wrap the first boy in plastic. The Joker wasn't the easiest to hunt. If he didn't want them finding him until he was ready to reveal whatever his end game here was, they wouldn't.

_That's what makes him the most dangerous predator out there at this moment._

The Whisperers, the Wolves, even the vilest of Negan's own men paled in comparison to the Joker.  _Simon doesn't even hold a candle to him_ , she thought as Negan grumbled something inarticulate behind her before repeating his earlier question.

"Was it, Fin?"

"No, it wasn't the Joker who got cremated that night." She let out a small sigh, equal parts guilt and regret. "And before you ask, yes, we should have suspected that it wasn't him."

"Why?"

"Because you always expect the unexpected with someone like the Joker." God, she beyond tired, she realized. More tired than she ever remembered being. It wasn't like she was sleep deprived, either. No, she suspected the cause of her exhaustion lay in the Joker again rising from the dead.  _And I'm the one they call Fenix_ , she thought as she rest her head against the glass. "The Joker is a master at mind games and manipulation. He's able to change his identity and blend into whatever environment he chooses. He's adept at all manners of weapons and an able chemist."

"Has the fuck faked his death before?"

"Oh, yes." Her laugh sounded as hollow as she felt. "He's faked his death many, many times, in fact."

_So many times, we have honestly lost count_ , she added silently.

"But you believed the fucking fuck was dead this time."

"I have no reason to doubt the person who gave me the information."

"Your uncle, the police commissioner, he the one who told you the fuck was dead?"

"Uncle Jim told me he watched the Joker's body become ash," she said. "It was Bruce who told me that the Joker was dead."

Again, it was nothing but the truth. Bruce did tell her the Joker was dead. He just  _might_  have been in the Batsuit while telling her.

"Is that why you didn't tell me about this fucking fuck after Dewey's body was discovered? Because you believed his ass turned to dust?"

"Yes and no," she admitted with a slight grimace. "Yes, because I wanted to believe that the Joker was dead but no, it's not the reason I didn't tell you about him."

"What's the real reason you didn't tell me about this sack of shit, baby doll?" He took a seat on one of the stools. "And don't try any of that prevaricating bullshit you like to pull when you don't want to tell me the truth."

"I'm not prevaricating." She made a face as the ugly things inside her head called her a liar. "Okay, I am. But you have to understand there are parts of my life I have closed myself off from, areas I haven't even started to deal with."

"Like that abusive fuck of a father you had?"

"He's one, yes." She turned to pace back towards the examination table. "And the Joker is another."

"What's your relationship with this fucking fuck, Fin?"

"We're the bestest of friends."

Negan muttered something under his breath. The only words she caught were "goddamn stubborn." She wasn't being fair to him. She knew she wasn't. Part of her hesitation was because she didn't want to relive Ethan's death. The other part was because she didn't want to admit that she feared to lose him in the same way.

"Fin..."

"I'm being unreasonable right now," she finally said. "I know I am, and I apologize for it. I'm sensitive because of everything going on." She picked up the playing card. "You have to understand that the Joker isn't someone trying to survive the infected. He isn't a man who targeted your wives because he developed a desire to become you. This is a monster of the likes that even the worst serial killers would fear."

"And he's stalking your cute lil' ass."

"I can handle him."

"No, you fucking won't."

"Negan..."

"You'll find the fucking fuck and bring him to me, Fin," he told her sharply. "Is that understood?"

Bringing the Joker to Negan was the absolute last thing she'd do.

"Yes, it is understood," she said. "But I won't bring him to you."

"He killed my people," he told her. "He will pay the consequences same as any other shithead."

"I know all about consequences, Negan." She folded her arms around her waist, cold despite the warmth of the room. "I learned about them before I was even out of diapers."

"Your father?"

"He was the first one to teach me that consequences take the people we love away from us, yes."

"When did you learn this?"

The acrid stench of burnt gunpowder mixed with that of charred flesh and blood to create a smell no amount of time would ever manage to completely erase.

"The night he decided to teach me what the consequences for telling secrets was."

Slowly, she lifted her eyes, but the man she saw seated before her wasn't Negan. It was the man who had taken her mother from her. It was his eyes she saw. Those dark eyes full of nothing. Not anger, not hatred, not fear, not anything.

The eyes of a mindless, emotionless, soulless machine.

"Matthew Berkeley taught me the consequences of breaking the rules when he shot my mother." She swallowed back the bile that formed into her mouth. "Why do you think I oppose your methods so much? Because I know how it feels to hold the person you love in your arms, to watch the light fade from their eyes, to have their blood seep into your clothes and coat your hands, to hear them take their last breaths."

"How the fuck old were you?"

A quiet rage thrummed in his voice and matched the one that burned beneath her skin.

"Eight."

A baby. Hardly ready for the world. She didn't say that, though. She figured she had said enough already.

"Who the fuck shoots the mother of their goddamn kid in front of their kid?"

"The kind of man who doesn't care about human life."

"That's not me, baby doll," he told her quietly. "I don't kill people because I don't care.

"I know that..." Raya said but Negan held up a hand to silence her.

"I've told you time and again that it's all about killing the right people. Fact is that if you kill the right people, at the right time... well, everything just falls into place. Everybody's happy as a fat kid at an ice cream buffet. Well..." He smiled, a quick, crooked grin that shifted the planes and angles of his face, teased out those dimples that made her stomach curl and softened the sometimes-grim line of his mouth. "Some of the fuckers are happier than others, but fuck 'em. At the end of the day, if you kill one, you are saving hundreds more. And that is what we are all about. We save people, darlin'."

They'd had this discussion many times since they met. While she couldn't fault his logic, she didn't agree with it, either.  _Another argument we have had hundreds of times_...

"Negan, you've done things I don't agree with," she began but he cut her off.

"We provide a service to people, baby doll."

"I know that but—"

"We can't do that without rules. Rules are what makes everything work. No matter how small, or insignificant, the rules are to be followed. I know it may seem trivial, or even callous on my part. There's no fucking truth to that at all."

"You have rules, and yes, they do manage to—"

"I'm trying to restore order to the world," he said. "To get things back to what they were before this shit came along and fucked shit up." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I know what it takes for people to survive and it's someone like me. Someone to keep their asses in line, to keep them so preoccupied that they're not focused on how goddamn miserable they are."

Again, it was nothing she hadn't heard dozens of times before.

"Negan, I—"

"You tell me I gotta go out and crush a field of dumb fucks to keep the two of us breathing? Abso-fucking-luty. You say people are gonna die unless I turn someone's head into a pile of ground chuck? I'll do it and not feel bad about it. I don't even have to fucking think about it, baby doll. It is what it is. It's survival."

"And therein is why you're nothing like the man my father was." Her smile was as bitter as her tone. "See, he took my mother away to protect himself and his social image. That's all that mattered to him. Maintaining the illusion of elegance and sophistication. His plan backfired, though. The scandal, along with Bruce and my uncle revealing what a monster he was, ruined him in the eyes of Gotham high society. So, he decided to get even with me by teaching me a whole new set of consequences."

"How so?"

"He hired a team of assassins to kidnap two of my best friends and give me the choice of saving one or the other but not both because to do that would kill people trapped in buildings hardwired to detonate if I made the wrong choice."

…

Fin liked delivering truths or making m revelations when he either didn't want to hear them or wasn't expecting them. This, though? This went beyond everything she had told him about her father.  _What kind of father makes their kid choose who the fuck is gonna bite the big one?_

A really fucking lousy one, he realized.

"Are you telling me that you  _picked_  who fucking died?"

She nodded. "I did, yes. I didn't have any other choice."

"There's always a choice."

"Not this time," she said. "No matter what option I chose, one of my friends was going to die. I was essentially the winner at a losing game."

"You didn't have to choose either one."

"That wasn't an option, Negan. I either had to choose to tear the heart out of my family or sacrifice a piece of my soul. Otherwise, the entire city would be punished. Kill one to save many was my option. Sound familiar?"

Her words, spoken in a tone that had his innards quivering, caught him off guard. For a moment, Negan could do nothing but stare at her, wondering how best to reply. How the fuck was he supposed to answer?

Having his own philosophy directed back at him was like being a double amputee at a peep show.  _I'm left sitting here trying to figure out how to suck my own dick._ It explained why she disagreed with his policy so strongly.

He should have figured out her reason had something to do with either her father or the fucked-up city she came from. Most things with Fin had some sort of personal component behind them.

Forcing her to choose between her friends and a city of people was the ultimate payback. A lesson meant to cripple her emotionally. Why? Because there was abso-fucking-lutely no way Fin would ever choose her friends over an entire city. She put others ahead of herself and her own wants and needs.

_Just like Lucille_.

"I lost someone." His fingers clenched around the handle of Lucille. Drawing support and comfort from her solid warmth. "It was before this shit happened. One day they were there and the next..." He paused, swallowed down the guilt and grief that always surfaced when he talked about his wife. "And the next they were gone. Turned into one of those undead fucks outside."

_And I'm a shithead asshole who couldn't do anything to save her. Didn't put her down myself, got that kid to do it. Didn't even go back to give her a decent fucking burial. My wife. I just left her there to rot on that dirty floor._

He didn't add that part, however.

"You mean your wife, Lucille?"

Shock at her ability to deduce he was talking about his wife, Lucille, crashed over Negan in great big waves. They had never discussed his past beyond that he had been a teacher, lived in a suburb not too far from here, been married but didn't have any kids.

He never told her he named his bat after the woman he let down by being a selfish prick who thought only about himself and his own needs.  _How the fuck did she figure it out?_  His blood burned beneath his skin as he tried to figure out what he said or did that gave it away.

"How did you know I was talking about my wife?" Suspicion thickened his tone. "How did you know I didn't mean a sister or my fucking mother?"

"Easy," she soothed in a voice like melted butter. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"That fucking right?" He dropped his voice an octave. Subtly warning her about the consequences of lying to him. "Then answer my goddamn question."

Something dark and dangerous flashed in the depths of her eyes. That abso-fucking-lutely flawless face went hard as a Grecian statue. She didn't like him ordering her to answer his question. That was fine. That was fan-diddly-tastic. He didn't much like her cute lil' ass profiling him, either.

"Nobody names an object like a baseball bat much less carries it around with them or shows it the deference you do without it having some personal sort of connection attached to it."

"And?"

"And given I knew you had been married before this..." Those delicate shoulders crept up into a shrug. "Wife seemed like the most logical conclusion for who you were talking about when you said you lost someone. They'd have to be very special for you to name a bat after them."

It was a simple enough deduction to make. Shit, he employed much the same level of reasoning when he figured out who to feed to Lucille.

"Yeah," he finally admitted after a few moments. "Yeah, it was my wife, Lucille." He carefully placed Lucille on the exam table, shaken by the turn in the conversation, and not knowing how to shift it without saying something that would make Fin leave him. "My only real wife."

She folded her arms across her chest as she studied him with eyes that Negan felt saw and knew too much.

"That explains why you chose to engage in sexual relationships with multiple women you refer to as wives instead of forming a solid monogamous one with a single woman. You don't want to give another woman the same honor and distinction that your first wife has."

"That so, Dr. Fucking Freud?"

He didn't growl it. No, he was simply too tired at that moment. And it wasn't like Fin was entirely wrong. The goddamn woman was rarely wrong. Most often, he appreciated her candor and intelligence. Now, he just wished she would shut the fuck up. Especially since she was getting dangerously close to things he didn't want her knowing about.

"You refuse to become emotionally attached to someone because you fear to have them leave you as she left you."

"You can't be hurt if you don't let yourself care in the first place."

"You hurt yourself more because you know these women don't care about you." She moved back to the window. "You tell yourself there's no reason to limit yourself because the world needs every able man to help repopulate it, but the truth is that you don't think you deserve to love again because you were a shit husband who didn't save his wife from what happened to her." She reached up to finger one of the silver pendants that hung from a silver chain around her neck. "I guess we have that in common because I was a shit wife who failed to be there when her husband needed her the most."

The woman was good, he had to admit that. She was very fucking good, in fact. Fin was so good at figuring shit out, he started to worry she'd uncover his other secret. The one he barely even acknowledged to himself: that he did love her.

_That couldn't happen_ , he decided as he watched her. She couldn't ever find out just how important to him she was.

There'd be no living with her if she did.

"Don't fucking profile me again," he ordered, his tone brusque. "Got it?"

"Oh, yeah, I got it." Her voice snapped with her irritation. "I got that it's okay for you to force me into opening up to you but that you won't give me the same courtesy."

"Fin..."

"No, Negan." She turned to him. "I'm not backing down. Not this time. Not when you've pushed at me, forcing me to open up and talk about things I haven't even talked with my family about."

"You needed to get that shit out into the open."

"And yet you won't talk to me about Lucille." She shook her head. "Not exactly fair, Negan."

"Life's not fair, baby doll."

"You think I don't know that?" Her laugh sounded hollow; bitter. "You think I don't know how unfair life is? I do. I learned that shit when my father killed my mother, when he had one of my best friends murdered, and when that goddamn clown killed Ethan."

It wasn't often that Negan found himself at a loss for words. This was one of those times. "What the shit?" was all he managed. "What the... Fin?"

"The Joker killed my husband. Beat him with a crowbar, cut a witty little ditty into his chest, and hung him on the chain-link fence surrounding the GCPD parking lot. Just like he did Dewey and these boys."


	21. Chapter 21

If growing up in Gotham taught her anything, it was that there was always a moment of calm before a storm hit. Rayalearned to appreciate the all-too-brief respites. They gave her a chance to gather her thoughts and to plan for whatever might come next.

This time, however, the lull only intensified her agitation. Her nerves tingled with anticipation. Her belly cramped with that familiar mix of anxiety and dread.

_My Bat-senses are in overdrive because of everything going on_ , she thought as she watched Jordan build a fort out of some blocks.  _I know something is coming, I know the Joker is behind it, but I don't know what it is, when it will happen, where it might occur or even how he plans on going about whatever it is he's got planned._

The only thing she knew with one hundred percent certainty was the  _why_.

Not that  _why_  wasn't hard to figure out.

Why with the Joker was always the easiest part of the problem to figure out.

Raya poured herself a cup of tea, got out a pad of paper and a pencil and sat down in Negan's chair.  _An hour is all I need_. An hour of quiet, where she could settle down, make some lists, form her theories and thoughts into some semblance of coherency. Then maybe she wouldn't be so jumpy.

It was a lie, of course, but it allowed her to draw her first decent breath since waking that morning. She started by scratching out the most relevant facts as they occurred to her, adding drawings to further illustrate what she saw as she examined the boy's bodies, and making side notations that explained how it all tied back to key moments where the Joker caused similar injuries to other people.

Other people being Ethan and Jason.

_It would have been Paul had I not found him before the Joker returned to finish the job_ , she thought as her mind drifted again to a Halloween from long, long ago.

...

As soon as the Clown Prince disappeared around the side of the building, she scrambled over a pile of garbage and other debris to race to the boy. He blinked his non-blackened eye wide when as he spied her and began to make excited utterances behind the filthy rag stuffed in his mouth.

"Sh." She knelt beside him. "We must be very quiet. The Joker is still nearby."

He mumbled something she couldn't make out and began to thrash back and forth.

"It's okay," she said as she undid the ropes around his small ankles and wrists. "The Joker won't hurt you anymore." She pulled the rag from his mouth and tossed it away. "I promise."

"Wh-who are you?" he asked in a small, tremulous voice. "How did you find me?"

Time was of the essence. She needed to get him somewhere safe before coming back to help Batman and Robin with stopping whatever festivities the Joker had concocted for the evening. However, she spared a moment to reply to his questions.

"I'm Fenix."

"Fenix?" Awe tinged his voice. "You work for Batman?"

"I do, yes." She dropped her voice an octave. A conspirator's tone. "My best friend is Robin."

"He is?"

"Mhm." She rose to her feet and held out a gloved hand to him. "Shall we be away, Mr...?"

She left the question to dangle purposely. It was a technique she learned from her uncle, James Gordon. Interrogating without seeming to interrogate. Acquiring facts without seeming overly invested in the information. It lulled people into a false sense of security and caused them to either slip-up or reveal what they might not have otherwise.

"Paul," he replied automatically. "Paul Rovia." He set one of his hands in hers and allowed her to pull him up to his feet. "The people at the orphanage call me Jesus, though."

"And why do they call you Jesus?"

His thin shoulders lifted into a faint shrug. "'Cause I'm always saving the littler boys from the bigger ones who like to pick on 'em."

The words were uttered low, forcefully. A look at his face showed a quiet rage simmering in the depths of his blue-green eyes.  _So_ , she mused as she adjusted his cape.  _That's why he chose to dress as Robin. He wants to protect the small and helpless from the monsters._

She could relate to that.

It's why  _she_  chose to become Fenix.

"Well, it sounds to me like you're a superhero in training, Mr. Rovia," she said as she reached for the grapnel gun attached to her utility belt. "Because we're always saving people from the monsters in the dark."

"Like when Batman saved all those folks from the Scarecrow?"

"Yep." She sent him an easy smile. "Or like when Robin stopped a group of boys from beating up a smaller one just for being different."

"They pick on me 'cause I'm different."

"Well, after tonight, they'll know not to pick on you."

"Why?"

"Because I'll make sure they understand that if I hear about you being picked on that I will come after them."

"You will?"

"I have a particular soft spot for Robin's." She settled an arm around him. "Hold tightly to me now."

He curled his small arms around her waist without uttering a word. She fired a line at the ledge she perched on earlier. She felt the line go taut, knew it grabbed hold and counted the heartbeats before they were airborne.

...

_Two_ , she recalled as she shook herself from her musings.  _There were two heartbeats before that line pulled us into the air._

Her life, as well as Paul's, changed forever that night. Raya didn't return Paul to the orphanage as she'd been instructed.

How could she when there was no orphanage left to return him too?

A mysterious fire earlier that evening had left the building a smoldering pile of wood and mortar. It hadn't taken many guesses to know the Joker set the fire as a precursor to what he had in store for Batman and Gotham.

Raya found herself in the same position Bruce found himself in with her. She needed a safe place Paul could stay while she helped with the Joker and his crew. So, much like Bruce, she called upon the only person she could think of to help: Alfred Pennyworth.

Alfred brought Paul to Wayne Manor.

And when Bruce asked him why, the butler replied simply, "Because there is no better home for an orphaned Robin than here, Master Bruce."

_Bruce never once argued with him about it,_  she realized as she heard someone outside the bedroom door.

Her back instantly went up.

Every Bat-sense came alive.

The hunted shifted into being the hunter.

There was any number of places the Joker could hide in a place as large as the Sanctuary.  _He is a master of disguise_ , she thought, relaxing when Negan came strolling in, whistling softly.  _He could remain undetected for months_.

She needed to get more people inside the Savior's.  _Harper, Oliver and even Double Red can easily blend in with the men_ , she decided as Negan bent to talk with Jordan.  _And nobody will think twice of me bringing Krypto in as extra protection for Jordan and me._

She could, if needs be, also bring Robin in.  _I can even call Nightwing and Hood if I have no other choice_.

She just wouldn't give the Joker what he most wanted.  _Won't call Batman here, you sick son of a bitch. You will have to kill my ass before I will ever give the order to call him._

"Whatever the fuck you're over there thinking," Negan said as he rose to his feet. "Fucking forget it."

"You don't even know what I'm thinking."

"I know you're thinking of going after this shithead by your fucking self." He perched on the edge of her chair. "And the answer is no."

"I will do what's necessary to protect you and Jordan from that clown."

"I said no, Fin." He slid his fingers to the back of her neck and slowly rubbed in slow, soothing circles. "You're not going after this fucking fuck alone."

"Fine," she said as some of her tension eased. "But I want your agreement on allowing some of my people to come here and search for him. They're trained in how to hunt down and deal with a man of the Joker's caliber."

"My men will handle this fuck when he shows up."

"They can't handle what they can't find, Negan."

Negan pondered that a moment.

"You think this fuck is here in the Sanctuary?"

"I think it's a very good possibility, yes." She lifted her eyes to his. "If not here then he's at one of your other outposts."

"Would explain how this fuck gets his hands on these kids," he said. "I just don't understand how a freak like that doesn't stick out like a priest in a whorehouse."

"You're dealing with someone who can blend into whatever environment he chooses."

"He'll fuck up and reveal his ass eventually."

"No, he won't." She set her notepad and pencil on the table. "That's what you're not getting. He won't simply screw up and reveal himself."

"That fucking so?" One eyebrow tilted. "And how do you know he won't?"

"Because I know how the Joker likes to play this game. He won't reveal himself until  _he's_  good and ready. It's all part of the fun."

"You telling me that this fucking fuck is getting off on this shit?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it  _that_  way," she said dryly. "But yes, in a sense, he is. And so long as he is enjoying himself he will continue to play this game."

"Meaning there will be more dead bodies and shit."

"Mhm."

"What happens when this fuck gets bored with this game of his?"

"You mean when he gets bored with leaving bodies on chain link fences?" She saw his nod. "Well, he will change the rules, up the ante, do whatever it takes to keep enjoying himself." Across her vision came the image of him in a pool of blood and his own brain matter. "It's all about the game with the Joker."

"And if that shit doesn't fucking work?"

"Then he will end it."

"And by end it..." His fingers twitched against her neck. The only clue about his emotional state. "You mean he will kill your cute lil' ass."

"He will try, yes," she told him honestly. "And if he can't kill me?" She reached back to take hold of his hand. "Then he will try to kill you."

"Let the fucking fuck come after me." His eyes went to where Lucille rest atop her pillows. "I might get what I fucking deserve, or he will meet Lucille. Either way, it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me." She indicated Jordan with a nod of her head. "And to him. He's lost both his parents, his sister, and countless other family. All he has now is you and me."

A flash of vulnerability mixed with other, darker emotions appeared on his face. It vanished less than a second later. Rayaalmost believed she imagined it. However, there was an echo of raw grief and a guilt so deep that it overrode everything else that lingered in his eyes. Seeing it caused her stomach to ache. She hated to see anyone; anything in pain. Then it too was gone, leaving her wondering if she imagined the entire thing.

"You said this fucking fuck killed your husband the same way he killed those boys?"

"Yes, he did."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he swallowed and said, "Lucille... she died just as this shit got started. Inoperable brain tumor." He chuckled humorlessly. "Irony at its fucking finest."

"It's not irony," she corrected gently. "It's a tragedy that she died."

_You wouldn't have gone so far over the edge if she hadn't died_ , she added silently. No, she had a feeling that Lucille would have stopped Negan before he became such a tyrant.  _She was his check and balances before I came along_ , she thought as he closed his eyes. More a long blink than anything.  _She made him toe the line_.

As she now would.

"Her death..." His voice thrummed with pain. "It broke me."

"I can understand that." She slid her fingers between his. "I have carried the guilt of Ethan's death for all these years."

"Yeah?" He looked at her. "How long has it been since he died?"

"Sixteen years..." She frowned as she calculated the time in her head. "Give or take a few months."

"And you still blame yourself for it?"

"I always will blame myself for Ethan's death."

"Why?"

"Because if I was a better wife I'd have known my husband was in trouble and done something to save him." She stroked her thumb over his knuckles. "Sound familiar?"

"Yeah." He sighed softly. "Yeah, it does."

"I know what it feels like to lose someone you love. To stand at their grave and apologize for not being there for them. To tell them all the stuff you wished you told them when they were still alive."

"That's where you're wrong, baby doll."

"What am I wrong about?"

"I didn't even fucking bury Lucille."

Shock crashed over Raya at that revelation.  _That explains it_ , she realized as she stared at him. His guilt, his grief, the shock of losing his wife and watching her reanimate as a mindless drone... it all played a part in making him the man who was before her now.

"Only thing I have done since this shit started that I regret was leave my wife to rot on that hospital room floor."

"I thought you said she died right as the virus broke out?"

"She was in the hospital when the shit hit the fan." He got up and moved to the table where glasses and a bottle of whiskey sat but didn't reach for either. "Died the day it all went to hell."

"You saw her turn."

It wasn't a question and she didn't expect him to answer.

"Yeah," he surprised her by saying. "Shit, I couldn't even put her down after she turned, had to get some fucking kid to go back and do it. I didn't even watch him do it. Just couldn't bring myself to see her that way. It was like she was some kind of fucking abomination."

"Hey." She waited until he looked at her before continuing. "It's understandable that you couldn't handle seeing her like that. Not many people are able to view their loved ones after they're gone. You shouldn't beat yourself up about it. It was a purely human response to an impossible situation."

"Yeah." He reached for the bottle of whiskey but did not pour a glass. "I stayed in the area for a few weeks after, but I never went back to do the right thing. I just..." His shoulders bowed with the guilt weighing heavy on him. "I just couldn't see her like that. I couldn't put her in the ground. I couldn't put her to rest. So now she's a pile of dry bones rotting on a fucking floor. Because of me."

She got up and went to him. "I've seen more than my share of dead bodies." She set a hand on his back. "It doesn't get any easier and it's always the hardest when it's someone that you know and care about."

"Did you see your husband after what that fucking fuck did to him?"

"No."

He looked over his shoulder at her. "You didn't see his body?"

"No, I did not."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because like you, I couldn't bring myself to see him like that. To have that as my final memory of him."

_Because I couldn't risk the stress causing me to lose the child that we desperately craved,_ she added silently. A child that neither Ethan nor the man who helped them achieve their wish would get a chance to meet because their lives got taken from them before he was born.

"How do you know that Dewey and the others were killed the same way?" He turned towards her. "If you didn't see his body, how do you know?"

"Because I read the medical examiner's report."

He accepted that with a nod. "You buried him, though. You made sure he was put in the fucking ground. That he was laid to fucking rest."

"We can do something to put her to rest." She took his hands in hers. "To give her the peace you feel you've denied her by not burying her."

"I named a stupid fucking baseball bat after her."

"So? I named my bow after Ethan."

"Get the fuck outta here." He cut a look at her. "You're fucking serious?"

"I'm perfectly serious." She waved towards where the bow hung on a peg with the quiver of arrows. "In a hidden compartment in my quiver is his badge and service revolver."

"You don't like guns."

"I don't," she said. "But I will use them if necessary." She just wouldn't shoot to kill. He already knew that, though. "They were his, though. And I keep them close to me because it makes me feel I still have a part of him here with me. Like you do with Lucile."

"Lucille meant everything to me. I didn't even know it at the time. Not all the time, anyway. There were moments, but for the most part... I was a piece of shit. It wasn't until she was gone that I really knew understood what she meant to me."

"Honor her now by being the kind of man she'd be proud of." She nodded her head towards where Jordan continued to play, oblivious to the conversation and to the monster lurking somewhere inside the Sanctuary's walls. "Teach him how to be a man in this world. Show him that we do not need to become monsters to survive."

He turned away, but not before Raya glimpsed the shadow of vulnerability that darkened his eyes.

"I can't do this shit alone, Fin. I can't. I need you to help me."

That admission, uttered in a low rasp, rocked her to the core. Negan didn't do vulnerable. He didn't admit needing anyone for anything other than base purposes. Yet, there he was and openly telling her that he couldn't move forward without her help.

"Then we'll do it together." She skimmed her fingers over the back of his arm. "God knows someone needs to keep you in line. Might as well be me."

He turned back, the ghost of a smile forming on his lips. "I thought I needed to get rid of my other wives before you'd fucking agree to become one?"

"Yeah, I think that ship is resting next to the Titanic on the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean."

He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close. "About fucking time you came to your goddamn senses, baby doll."

"Well, one of us needs to be sensible..."

He snorted at that. "You're still the most unusual fucking woman I have ever met."

"Yeah?" She curled her arms around his waist. "And here I'm thinking that I'm the most unusual present you've ever received."

"You're the best present a sorry fucking shit like me has received."

"Keep telling you that I have a soft spot for sorry fucking shits."

"Yeah?" The gleam in his eyes had warning bells going off in her head. "Well, how about we mosey on over to the bed?" His lips stretched into that miles-wide smile that always turned her insides to goop. "We can play a round of mattress bingo."

_Nothing if not consistent_ , she mused as she swallowed a laugh.

She wouldn't have him any other way.

"We have a kid in the room."

"Send him out to play with Fat Joey," he whispered in her ear as he ran a hand over her hip. "Mommy and Daddy need their alone time."

"Daddy needs a cold shower."

"C'mon, darlin'," he cajoled. "If I'm not ba..."

"Would you shut up and kiss me?"

"With fucking pleasure."


End file.
